The Big Bang! Theory - A fourth--and final--short, erotic encounter of the Judy Banger kind

by Debra Salonen

  She unwrapped a sandwich, studiously arranging it just so on the china plate he'd pulled from the cupboard. When she failed to look up or smile, he knew something was bothering her. "Tell me what's wrong, Judy. You're disappointed about lunch? We can eat there every day next week."

  She inhaled deeply. His gaze dropped to her chest. How could it not? He hadn't stopped thinking about her lush, beautiful body. He wanted to make love with her so bad he had a perpetual woody. Wouldn't Fletcher laugh if he knew his dad had turned into a horny reprobate who lusted after a woman he barely knew?

  "Wiley, you're great. I like you. A lot. In fact, a lot more than I have any business liking any man right now."

  "What do you mean 'right now'?"

  She plucked a sesame seed off the bun and popped it in her mouth. "For the past few weeks, I've been doing exactly what I wanted without stopping to consider the consequences or taking into account who might get hurt by my actions. In other words...I've been acting like a man. No offense to your gender."

  He leaned forward, elbows bracketing his plate. "Believe me, you're not the only woman attempting to level the playing field. What does that have to do with us?"

  Her lips formed a pouty frown. "If I'd met you before Buddy and you'd brought me here to share this romantic picnic, I'd have said, 'Screw the food, let's fu...get it on.' And we'd have been upstairs in your bed so damn...I mean, darn...fast, you'd be wondering what happened to your jockeys."

  His pulse quickened and his hard-on got harder. "And that's a bad thing how?"

  She tossed up her hands. "I think I've given you the wrong impression. I did a little swinging when I was married, but I've dated six guys in all the years since my divorce--including Buddy. Like I said, I gave into his pleading because I wanted to thumb my nose at society and say, 'Screw senility. I may be old, but I'm not dried up and ready throw in my vibrator.' But that doesn't make me easy."

  "I know you're not. Apparently, I've forgotten every dating protocol I ever knew. We should have eaten lunch at the restaurant, gone to a movie, changed our relationship status on Facebook..." That brought a smile, as he'd hoped. "Judy, I'm sorry. I'm not making excuses, but everything you said applies to me, too. Well, not the vibrator, but...I've let work and responsibility--and maybe the past--keep me from fully engaging in life. When I'm with you, I feel exhilarated and optimistic and whatever the opposite of bored is. I apologize if I jumped to the wrong conclusion, but I thought--after last night--that you and I were on the same page."

  Her smile looked sad. "As you had every right considering my hand was on your dick. But this morning at Heritage House, something changed. Mother tried to use me against my sister...normally, it's the other way around. I think a part of me has been waiting my whole life to be the favorite. But, Mom's crazy mind games didn't work. Instead, I felt sorry for her. I know who I am, and I like who am. I don't need her approval any more." She blushed. "Dang. I sound like a guest on Oprah, right?"

  "You sound like Judy. This doesn't surprise me."

  She eyed him curiously. "Really? Because I spent most of my life believing I was destined to screw up...so, I did."

  He took her hand. "You've worked hard to provide for yourself. By doing your job you helped a lot of people live out their final years with dignity and joy. You paid taxes and never robbed a bank, right? How's that screwing up?"

  Her smile seemed brighter but not quite convinced. He scooted his chair a little closer. "Judy, I've lived the most normal, by-the-book life you could imagine. Did that protect me from loss and sadness? No. So, where did such upright, rule playing get me? I'm fifty-five. Alone. Stuck in a job that sucks any smidgeon of joy from my day so the first thing I reach for when I walk through the door at night is the cognac."

  She squeezed his hand. Her warmth, her empathetic smile made it easy to say, "I'm not an impetuous person. Ask Fletcher. It took me two weeks to make up my mind about whether or not to buy the Prius. But from the moment I met you, I haven't been able to think about anything--anyone--else. I want to get to know you better. I think we'd be good together." Coward. Tell her how you really feel.

  But before he could add, "I think I may even be in love with you," she dropped her chin to her chest and shook her head.

  "I can't see you anymore, Wiley."

  "Why?"

  She let go of his hands and jumped to her feet. "I'm moving. After I left Mom's, I decided I like myself too much right now to let her negativity pull me down. She can't help how she is. She's my mother and I love her, but I love myself enough to run like hell. So, I called Fletcher and told him I'd take the job. I'm going to manage his new club."

  "His sex club?"

  She nodded. "He'll need help with the paperwork. Southern California is a fresh start and a five-hour drive from Mom. Does that make me a coward? Maybe. But I prefer to label it an act of self-preservation."

  He called on all his years of judicial practice to keep from showing his disappointment. "When do you leave? Today?"

  She blinked. "Heavens, no. It'll take me a couple of weeks to get all my ducks in a row."

  He pointed at the table. "Then you have time for lunch?"

  She pressed her hand to her belly. "I do, but...I just broke up with you. Didn't I?"

  He chuckled and waved away the idea. "We aren't exactly a couple, Judy. You don't owe me anything. I like you. I would have liked the chance to get to know you better. If you have time for dinner or a movie--even a jog together--before you leave, that would be great. If not, then...this--whatever this is between us--wasn't meant to be." He pointed to the table. "But we can still enjoy lunch together, can't we?"

  Judy took a deep breath and thought about what he was asking. Had she truly, honestly turned down a chance to date the man of her dreams? She could almost hear Pru's shriek of horror from Iceland. "You are the world's biggest dope, Judy. Strip him, screw him and let your mother go f-herself."

  The Judy Banger of last week would have done that. But look where jumping into bed with Buddy, Jed and the ménage had gotten her. If she had the guts to stand up to her mother, surely she was brave enough to hold out for Mr. Right. And, despite being physically attracted to this gorgeous hunk of a man, she knew how high the odds were stacked against them ever becoming a couple.

  But a girl had to eat.

  "Lunch," she said stupidly. "Of course. Sorry. My head's all over the place."

  She sat, tucked the linen napkin her host had brought from the house on her lap and picked up her giant sandwich. Her brain hadn't been on food when she ordered. She'd still been trying to figure out why Wiley had been so set on leaving the Midtown Diner. To avoid being seen with me? Or did his agenda have more to do with the look of desire she'd read on his face as he watched her walk toward his table?

  No trace of that desire remained now, she thought, watching him chew a bite of his Reuben. She'd doused those smoldering embers like a rainstorm on a campfire.

  They dined with the stiff formality of polite adults who'd lived long enough to fake small talk with artificial grace. The whole thing felt as empty as the calories she consumed without really tasting. And she knew exactly who was to blame.

  Although generally she made a point of avoiding contentious subjects at mealtime--Thank you, Mom--Judy decided to risk heartburn--and heartache. "Why'd we leave the restaurant, Wiley? Because you didn't want to be seen with me?"

  His shock appeared real. "What? Of course, not. Why would you say that?"

  "The Midtown's popular with the D.A. and the Chief of Police. Fletcher's ex-partner said a lot of awful things about me. Small towns...gossip...word gets around. Your reputation could be tarnished."

  He shook his head. "I doubt that. Nor do I care. But you're right about living in a fish bowl. I didn't want to feel as though our every movement was being analyzed--not because you're Judy Banger, but because I'm Judge Wilson Canby."

  She honestly hadn't considered that.

  "I'm sorry if that rattled you, Judy. I should
have asked your opinion, instead of imperiously demanding we leave. Can you tell my social graces are a little rusty?"

  Can you tell I'm a little neurotic? Before she could comment, her phone started to play a familiar tune. "Oh, sorry. I left the ringer on in case my sister snapped and wound up murdering Mom."

  She started to turn if off, but Wiley shook his head. "Take it. I'll get us more iced tea." Her glass had room for about half an inch of liquid.

  She chewed fast and swallowed before answering. "Fletcher, what's up? Did you change your mind about hiring me?"

  Wiley's son's laugh sounded identical to his father's. "Of course, not. I wanted to update you on Buddy's memorial service. Lewis just confirmed with the Veteran's Cemetery. They'll inter his ashes this coming Sunday."

  "My goodness. That's not a lot of warning. How can I help?"

  "Lew's going to email you a flier. If you'd print a few copies and post them around town...maybe, one at the bar and another at Heritage House? Wherever you think appropriate. Oh, and Lewis said to tell you he really hopes you'll be there."

  "Of course. I wouldn't miss it."

  "Thanks. And, by the way, he thought hiring you was brilliant. His word. We'll try to talk more at the funeral, but Lew will have his kids, so we probably won't have much of a chance."

  She said a hurried goodbye as soon as she spotted Wiley returning. She hadn't told Fletcher about meeting his dad. That hadn't been a problem until he offered her a job--and she'd accepted. Now, she felt duplicitous. Which made her feel all the guiltier about wanting to jump Wiley's bones.

  "I am one sick individual," she murmured under her breath.

  "Pardon?" Wiley asked, his hip brushing against her arm as he stopped to set down her glass.

  The contact set off an electric frisson that sparked mini-explosions in hormone centers around her body. Her nipples puckered. She crossed her legs and sat a bit straighter, trying not to wiggle and jiggle in response to the tingling in her lady parts.

  Wiley must have picked up some kind of silent "I'm-hot-and-ready" signal on his man radar because he pulled his chair directly across from her and sat, hunching forward so their torsos were only a foot or so apart. "Judy, can we be frank with each other?"

  Any closer to those let-me-jump-in-and-swim blue eyes and she'd be frankly ripping off his shirt. Stalling, she grabbed her glass and took a drink. Unfortunately, the condensation on the side splashed onto her upper chest and trickled straight toward her cleavage. Wiley caught the drop on his finger and popped it in his mouth. A little icky but also a lot sexy. Judy's self-control evaporated. Those weeks of dreams, hot and heavy, lusting and thrusting, with Wiley in the role of luster and thruster, flashed across the screen in her head.

  "Could we f...I mean, screw instead?"

  His head cocked to one side. "Seriously?"

  "It doesn't have to be serious. I like fast, fun and frivolous. What about you?"

  He tossed back his head and laughed. "Never tried it that way, but I'm game, if you are."

  Was she?

  No.

  Yes.

  Yes, please.

  His grin told her the last answer is the one that came out.

  She stood and took his hand. "We should take this party inside...you being a judge and all."

  He rose and pulled her to him. "Screw the judge. This is Wiley and Judy doing whatever pleases them." He kissed her hard and fast. Then he grabbed her hand, and they dashed like naughty little children into the house.

  Chapter Seven

  Wiley refused to question his good luck. Despite the nasty rumors his son's ex-partner tried to circulate about her, Judy was not a whore. She cared deeply and her feelings floated near the surface for everyone to see--especially those people who felt threatened by that kind of honesty. Wiley desired her, but he wasn't looking for a long-term relationship. He'd screwed up enough of those for this lifetime. Since she'd already announced her intention to leave town, this little tryst probably was a one-time deal.

  He led her to the French doors off his private patio.

  "Ooh, what a sweet little nook. Do you come here often?"

  "I did. It was my refuge after the accident when things got bad. Julie had great nurses but watching someone you love suffer is never easy." He groaned and shook his head. "I have all the savoir-faire of a brutish oaf. I honestly wasn't looking for sympathy."

  She placed her palm flat against his chest. "I told myself, 'No more sex.' But here I am ready to jump into bed with you. So, let's be adults about this. I like you. You like me. We have chemistry. I swear I'm going into this with no expectations beyond having a little fun." Her other hand cupped his manhood and squeezed. "You don't have to walk me home and shake my daddy's hand, and I promise you won't be named in a paternity suit."

  "That's very good of you," he said, pulling her tight against him. The soft cushion of her generous bosom flashed an image across his mind of her naked breasts floating in the water. Lust poured through his veins. "Did I tell you how pretty you look today? Your dress is very becoming."

  "Thanks. It comes off easy. Wanna see?"

  "In a moment." He led her to the bed. "I want to savor you. Slow and deliberate. The way a trial unfolds. One piece of evidence at a time." He caressed the side of her face then drew his finger across her lips. "Your dress, lovely as it is, needs to go."

  She blinked. "Are you thinking...stripper?"

  "Now, I am."

  She kicked off her shoes and pivoted on one heel, presenting her back. "Unzip, please."

  Wiley had been married a long time. He was a pro at unzipping. This time he let his fingers linger at the top of the neckline even as he wiggled the small plastic zipper down the length of her spine. When it reached the bottom, he leaned over and kissed her shoulders from left to right. She shivered and let out a little peep.

  He liked that she didn't try to hide her feelings.

  "Your skin is so soft. And you smell like flowers. What kind?"

  "Lavender lotion. No perfume. Mom's allergic."

  Thoughtful. Endearing. He brushed his nose back and forth, inhaling the faint scent. "I like it." I like you.

  "What else do you like?" She spun around, her fingers to her lips. "O...M...G, as they say. Did that sound like hooker-speak or what?"

  Her cheeks flushed crimson.

  "Yeah, it did. And I'm not against a little role-playing, but maybe we should keep this simple our first time out."

  He said our first time, Judy thought. First implied there'd be more--possibly even many. Although technically, given her plan to move, a hint at any sort of future should have sent up an armada of red flags, instead, her nerves settled down. "Simple works."

  She let go of her dress, which she'd clutched to her chest like a baby's blankie. She hadn't had time to shower after leaving Heritage House, but she had changed into her prettiest underwear...just in case. "Always wear nice undies when you're going somewhere important, Judy," Mom had preached. What could be more important than meeting the man of her dreams--literally?

  Or was she putting the proverbial horse's you-know-what before the cart? Yes, Wiley's equipment was impressive, but did he know how to use the male divining rod as God intended--to pleasure women?

  There was only one way to find out.

  She stepped to his king-size bed and sat, legs splayed. "Your turn." She made a twirling motion with her finger. "Make it interesting. And, by the way, I saw Magic Mike three times." Once in the theater with Pru, actually. The other two involved her vibrator and YouTube clips of the hottest dance moves. She wasn't expecting Tatum Channing, but she was curious to see how Wiley handled the scrutiny.

  He hesitated a moment then shrugged, as if the verdict was moot. He'd dumped his suit coat and tie when they first entered his house. His sleeves were rolled back, so he started at the bottom and worked his way up. Shoes--kicked carelessly across the room. One...two...socks disposed of efficiently. Belt hissed through pant loops to sprawl gracelessly near the open
door of his walk-in closet. As he unzipped his pants, he made eye contact.

  The twinkle in his eyes made her grin. He was having fun. A thought struck her. He doesn't have fun often. A warm slurry of tenderness blossomed in her chest.

  She ran the tip of her tongue back and forth across her lips.

  Zip.

  Drop.

  Step.

  "Nice Jockeys." Dark red, low on his hip, thigh-hugging. "You could jog in those," she said, checking him out thoroughly. "If it weren't for the bulge, that is."

  He adjusted his junk before unbuttoning his shirt. "I agree. It's not easy to jog with a hard-on. Happened to me this morning, in fact." His fingers paused at the halfway mark. "I was thinking about you," he said. "Your hands on my cock. Your tits in my mouth. Remind me, again, why didn't we fuck last night?"

  His language surprised--no, shocked--her. Not just the words, but also his husky, take-no-prisoners tone. Her juices started percolating. She rubbed her middle finger up and down against the silky material covering the mound at the juncture of her thighs. Did she wish she'd worked a little harder on leg exercises this week so her thighs weren't quite so chubby? Of course. But, lucky for her, Wiley didn't seem to give a damn about a few--okay, twenty...um, thirty--extra pounds. He was turned on and ready to rock and roll. In fact, his hard-on would have split less stretchy material, she noticed.

  He can split me in two any time he wants.

  She slipped her bra strap over one shoulder and gave a tug so her breast nearly spilled out of the underwire and satin restraining it. Inhaling deeply, the dense, heavy flesh swelled, exposing the ruddy circle of areola.

  Wiley made an all-male sound of horny, "Oh, yeah, baby" lust. He yanked off his shirt, struggling a moment when the sleeves bunched at his elbows. Fabric ripped. A button shot past her knee. He dumped the cloth in a heap on the floor as he dropped to his knees.