Home at Last [Davis Hollow, Davis Ranch 1] (Siren Publishing Allure)

by JQ Jones

  “Not really, I watched some videos.” Iona sipped her drink and carefully stood up. She shot the old man a smile. “I’m Iona Davis. This is my first trip to London. Great city, kinda damp.” She held her hand out.

  “Kinda damp, she says. It’s raining sheets, darling. Dan Stewart.” The older man stuck out his hand that Iona shook.

  “I’m from West Virginia and we have two seasons, winter and July,” she said. She eyed the darts.

  “I got some time between matches. Wanna throw a few?” Dan, pronounced Den, smiled at her with smoke-stained teeth.

  “I’d love to try darts, if you’re sure that I won’t get in the way.” By the time CJ looked up from James, a quick glance around the room spotted Iona right away. She was pitching darts with a group of four men who looked like they were all well into their seventies.

  Iona and Dan were in the middle of their first match when she paused in the middle of the game. She took off her shoes and returned to the game.

  “I had no idea there were black leprechauns,” Dan said. His fellow retirees laughed.

  “Oh, a short joke, original.” Iona broadened her smile. “I was gonna let you off easy but, sorry, no mercy.”

  After five games or so, CJ noticed she was cheating. Iona Davis pulled every shot that she could. That way she lost more than she won, buying rounds when she lost and accepting drink after drink from all four old men when she won. They traded dirty jokes, sang bits of old songs, and ridiculed one another’s darts skills.

  “Why are you cheating to lose?” he asked when she came back to the table.

  She said, “Because they’re pensioners, this is their home pub, and I don’t want to skunk ’em and we’re playing for pints. You have more money than they have so you can afford to buy.”

  By 12:30 p.m., Iona was pissed in the British sense of the word. She shot a half-formed smile at CJ before she slipped out to the bathroom. CJ excused himself from the table and opened the door to the ladies room. He carefully locked the door, turning around to find Iona standing in the loo, staring at the pull-chain toilet.

  “Old design, isn’t it?” she asked CJ.

  “This pub has been here since 1420. Modern conveniences came in between the great wars.” CJ leaned against the stall door. “You okay, Lil Bit?”

  “I think I’m a little drunk. This is my first time but it doesn’t feel like being high so I must be drunk.” She smiled at her cleverness. “Or tipsy? What’s the difference between tipsy and drunk?”

  “A six-hundred-euro fine these days.”

  “I guess I don’t want to find out the difference, really. Can we go back to the room? I need to lie down.” Iona slid her hand up the form-fitting shirt that CJ wore to dinner. She used the palms of her hands to rub over his prominent nipples that rose to meet her attention.

  “But first it’s back to the loo,” she said. It was a small ladies’ room complete with an old-fashioned toilet. Soft light gathered in pools over the commode, sink, and door. As she turned, CJ pushed his way into the tiny space before she could click the lock. He did it for her. Iona was slightly embarrassed as she discreetly used the bathroom, carefully not raising her eyes from the floor. The din from the bar, music, laughter, and the clink of glasses over loud conversations were the only sounds in the room.

  She pretended he wasn’t there, that over six feet of hard muscled man wasn’t leaning against the door watching her as she washed her hands and pretended it took way more time than necessary to glide on tinted lip balm. She hesitated too long because by the time she turned to speak to CJ, he was at her back pressing tightly and engulfing her in a hug that pressed her even closer to him.

  “You are a terrible flirt. Every man out there is waiting for you to decide if they can be lucky enough to take you home, get you out of those dick hardening jeans and fuck you till you scream,” he ran his hands down to unsnap her jeans and work them down to her ankles.

  “I’m a Davis, flirting is a part of breathing. You talk to anyone, eight to eighty and you make them feel special. Just because I’ve been somewhat of a home body doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to socialize,” she said. Her voice hitched as his fingers tunneled down the valley of her butt cheeks.

  “You and Howard Hughes were practically roommates. And you don’t flirt, you captivate. But I want you to remember who makes you do this,” CJ said. He dropped to his knees and kissed each of her ass cheeks before he turned her around and dove into her pussy.

  She moaned softly, trying to stifle the joy of having his tongue gently move over her folds, tasting her, loving her and imprinting his own brand of ownership on her. He pulled her boots and jeans off and threw them on a rickety wooden chair. He quickly placed her legs over his shoulders, and then he returned to his sensual attack on his prize.

  His tongue laved her, wet her, and teased her until she came in a clinched explosion that she muffled with both hands across her mouth. She thought he would stop now that he had placed his mark on her, but he didn’t. Seemingly lost in the taste of her, he continued his conquest until she came a second time. She slumped against the mirror with no attempt to do anything except accept what he was giving her.

  The door rattling made him lift his head. “Just a minute,” he shouted. He stood up and helped her down from the sink, cleaning her with wet paper towels to remove the spit and moisture that pooled along her thighs. He snapped her jeans shut before opening the door to the grinning face of an older brunette who patted Iona on the back as she slowly passed her in the small doorway. “Well done, skirt,” the older lady said as she slipped into the now clear room.

  Iona wandered back into the room and sat in the booth in an afterglow that made her smile even brighter. She made sure to pull CJ into her conversations while he sipped his single scotch. He stroked Iona’s thigh when she sat down between games. He gripped her leg tightly a few times, to show her that he was paying attention. Iona laughed, carefully prying his hand away from her leg and gently placing it on his own.

  She played a few more rounds, using her grasp of a broad range of subjects to bullshit the old men who knew she was shittin’ them but wanted to spend time with the small American lass with the slightly husky voice. She hung out with the old men until after one in the morning. She was sobering up, aware, always aware, that CJ watched her from the corner. She turned to flash him a smile and a “let’s go” jerk of her head.

  He collected her on the way out of the pub. Iona pleaded off more drinks with a casual, “I’m already pissed. Any more and I’d be shitfaced.” CJ bundled her into her new white trench coat, slapped a cool little fedora she bought to match, and found her umbrella. They walked back to the hotel, holding hands and CJ acting as guide. Iona had a lousy sense of direction. She was almost running by the time they reached the lobby. She picked up an orange from the front desk, thanked the desk clerk, and disappeared into the elevator, waiting for CJ.

  As soon as the door to their hotel suite closed, Iona pushed CJ against the door, unzipped his pants, pulled them past his knees, and slurped his soft dick into her mouth. It was her first blow job and it intoxicated her senses more than the stout she’d drank all night. His soft penis tasted of his musk. She rolled it around her tongue like a fine brandy, loving the way it began growing and swelling as she caressed it.

  It hardened, slowly stretching her mouth as it grew to its full eight-inch length. The girth required her to change her breathing, but she never lost contact with the object of her desire. CJ let her bring him to full erection before he pulled her to her feet, placing her away from him to completely undress. He kept her standing in the foyer as he removed the rest of his clothes.

  Once fully naked and standing with legs braced apart, he jerked her jeans and silk panties down and off with one swift motion. Her legs wrapped around his waist, sighing as he gathered their combined moisture and slammed home deep inside her. They made very little noise as they looked deep into each other’s eyes, promising things they hadn’t sai
d to one another. When they came, they were locked in a soft kiss that sealed those same promises.

  * * * *

  The next day saw more sightseeing than shopping. Iona wasn’t interested in getting a lot of clothes that she wouldn’t wear. They’d fought over that, but then they fought over most things except sex. Late in the afternoon, Iona stood in the bedroom of their suite going through bags looking for something to wear to dinner with CJ’s college friend and his partner.

  CJ sat on the end of the bed, listening to her argue with herself very slowly getting ready to go. Jeans, T-shirt, boots, and hat were all he needed. “The limo will be here in twenty minutes,” he said, trying to push a decision.

  “I’m not going by limo. I’m taking the Tube. It makes no sense to be in London and not take the Tube. There’s a stop close to your friend’s address.” She flipped through the rack of clothes, discarding dresses, trousers, skirts, and blouses. “You know you’re a loud talker?” she said.

  “I hadn’t noticed.” He smiled.

  “You are, especially when you talk on the phone. Is your hearing okay? Anyway you said that we’d be there at eightish. Since it’s sixish, the limo isn’t downstairs. The ride would take around twenty minutes in heavy traffic. It’s fifteen by Tube, but we have to walk about four blocks. Don’t try to rush me,” she said.

  Hands on hips, and mouth screwed to the side, she quivered with indecision. “Shit, I’ll never see them again so I can be comfortable in my own jeans,” she muttered. She loved her new cowboy boots, so dark a blue that they looked black, and an ivory cashmere sweater. London in September was more nipplely and wetter than it was at home. Sweaters and jackets were required after sundown.

  She dusted on light makeup that the counter woman at Harrod’s had shown her how to apply. They’d agreed that she didn’t need anything heavy. The only heavy hand was a fabulously glistening red lipstick. She threw herself a kiss in the mirror and grabbed her white raincoat. She waited at the door for CJ to unfold from the bed to join her.

  The Tube was everything Iona expected it to be, people from all kinds of different places rushing in and out in the orderly way that Brits were know for. Every kind of people, with accents and languages from all over the country and the world, got off and on the train car. Iona had GPS’d the stop and left it to CJ to make sure they got off on the right stop. She was disappointed when their stop came up so quickly.

  “We have to come back on the Tube,” CJ reminded her.

  “This is a great neighborhood,” Iona said. CJ’s friends, David Clyde-Davis and his partner, Barbara Harrington, lived on a tiny street in a three-story loft conveniently located above Barbara’s boutique.

  David hugged CJ, pounding one another on the back while Barbara kissed CJ’s cheeks. After David’s hearty handshake, Iona and Barbara exchanged tight smiles.

  Their home was designed as a huge open floor plan where the second and third floors were visible from the entrance. The second floor held an office and a bedroom with a half bath down a small hall. Chest-high glass panels designated the hallway. A glass-enclosed third floor had a huge bed piled high with pillows. Directly down the hall was a wooden door that Iona assumed was a bathroom.

  Hanging from the bottom of the master floor was a series of theater posters, each showing what Iona assumed were shows that David had worked on as a set designer. Iona and CJ laid down their outerwear and followed David to a totally open shared space that contained a kitchen, dining area, plus an entertainment room. CJ and Iona sat in the middle of a comfortable gray Scandinavian sofa.

  Barbara smiled at Iona, who sat up straighter at the brief sneer that quickly flickered across Barbara’s face. Iona took a sip of her wine, placing the glass beside an informal arrangement of hors d’oeuvres of cheese, fruit, and a red caviar with small triangles of toast.

  CJ lightly rubbed Iona’s back just below her loose bun that fell to just below her shoulders.

  “How’s Elizabeth?” Barbara asked. CJ and David paused in their conversation. Barbara placed her wine on a small table to her right. She carefully loaded a toast wedge with the caviar. Taking a crunchy bite before setting the food on a small plate, she turned to smile at an equally smiling CJ.

  “This should be interesting,” Iona said.

  “Why interesting, my dear? Surely you know about Christopher’s fiancée, Elizabeth,” Barbara said.

  Iona took a bite of the caviar and put it back on the plate before picking and eating a piece of cheese and a few grapes. The room was a little damp. She leaned closer to CJ and leaned over his right leg to be a little closer to Barbara as she began to speak. Iona looked deep into the icy blue of the other woman’s eyes before she said, “Elizabeth Samantha Blankenship is the only girl of the four children of Judge Clyde Blankenship and his wife of forty-two years, Marsha. Elizabeth attended the University of Oklahoma and won Miss Oklahoma in her senior year. She felt that it had too many ties to the LGBT community and returned it. Coincidentally, at the time Judge Blankenship was being vetted as a possible nominee for the vice president.” Iona paused to take a sip of wine before continuing.

  “Judge Blankenship gave a few controversial speeches on the possible establishment of separate set of laws for the LGBT community. He was widely panned as being an unconstitutional homophobe. Elizabeth retracted her statements, announcing her statement had been given while she was under pressure planning for her upcoming marriage to Christopher Joseph Davis, IV. That was over ten years ago, but there has never been a wedding. More importantly, CJ says that he broke his engagement with Elizabeth.

  “I overheard his end of the conversation. He was straightforward, offered her the ring, the car, and the rest of the jewelry he’s bought her. The crown was not returned. Also, Judge Blankenship was not chosen as the nominee.” Iona sat a little closer to CJ.

  “You probably didn’t expect me to answer you in a literal sense, but I’m very forthcoming with my replies.” Iona smiled softly at Barbara. There was a brief laugh from David and CJ, an even briefer half smile from Barbara.

  “My dear, where did you get those darling boots?” Barbara glanced down at Iona’s boots. After that, dinner was great, the wine was a great Portuguese red, the food was wonderful, and the conversation was genial. Iona liked David, tolerated Barbara, and loved talking to CJ. They argued over music, movies, and books, finding that they agreed a lot, but when they disagreed, it was huge. The argument over rock and roll guitarists lasted until they got back to Soho.

  “Eric Clapton is a great guitarist but Hendrix is a god,” CJ said.

  “Hendrix is a god so it makes it an unfair comparison. Clapton, Santana, Cray, I’ll even include Gary Clark Jr., are contemporaries,” Iona said. She flopped on the bed, toeing off her tight boots. She carefully put them back into the closet. She undressed and hung her clothes up in the huge closet, making sure her new wardrobe had ample space. She talked from the bathroom as she brushed her teeth, finally climbing into bed to face CJ with legs tucked under her naked body.

  CJ sprawled over the bed after discarding his clothes, tossing them over a nearby chair. Silk robes, Iona’s a vibrant green, CJ’s a rich chocolate, lay at the end of the bed.

  He scooped them up as he grabbed her hand, pulling her into the shower. With warm water cascading over them, CJ tied Iona’s hair with the scarf she’d used to keep her bun in place. They took turns washing one another’s backs. Iona’s soapy fingers sliding between CJ’s ass cheeks brought a hiss from him.

  He jerked the water off, dropped a thick towel over her shoulders, hustled them into robes, and quick marched her to the bed.

  She watched him turn off the lights, snapping the drapes open. The skyline lit up the room enough for her to see his hard dick flick from thigh to thigh as it jutted, hard and leaking, straight out from his body. His balls huge, thick, and plump from a nest of curly blond hair lay swollen and heavy against his right thigh.

  Iona rose to her knees to crawl to the middle of the bed to
meet him. Face-to-face, she reached his neck. Not bothering to look into his eyes, she swooped in to suckle his nipples. She sank her teeth around his tip, using her tongue to lave it as she sucked it hard.

  “You’re a bad little bitch, Lil Bit. I think I’ll make you come until you swell that tight little pussy all over my dick.” CJ held her head at his chest, crying out hoarsely as she popped off one nipple to attack the other.

  “Are you wet yet? Oh yeah, you’re dripping. You’re waiting for me to slam into you.” CJ laughed at her moans as they vibrated against his chest.

  “My special little pussy is leaking all over my fingers. Damn, that clit is hard. It’s really, really happy with me flicking it. Wonder what it will taste like tonight.” He slowly rolled his middle finger deep inside her hot wet pussy. His index and thumb played a rolling rhythm across her clit.

  She screamed as she came on his fingers, making her suck harder. She gasped as he balanced her on his thighs pulling her into a deep kiss. Iona reached for his neck, clasping both arms around him. They kissed in hot, open passion, clashing their tongues against each other.

  CJ stopped her by biting down on her bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth to be worried by his teeth. The pull almost hurt, but before she could pull away, he surged inside her. The angle allowed him to hit high into her body, stirring a mass of nerves that made her gasp and come with no preparation.

  “I found something interesting all the way up in my Lil Bit. Didn’t I?” CJ surged back slowly, seeking and finding the little bundle of nerves. “Come again, baby. Coat my dick with all that cream.” He punctuated every word, causing an infinite orgasm that had Iona without thought or true consciousness. She hung on barely, chanting his name. She felt him swell before he came. Her eyes snapped open to look directly into his as he smiled and let loose a torrent of cum.

  Sweat trailed down his chest to collect where their bodies met. He moved slower, allowing himself to slip from her drenched pussy until he popped free. He stretched out on the bed and curled her close to his side. Iona sat up to drag a comforter over them before resuming her place with her head tucked under his chin.