by D. Morrissey
“Um…you’re never going to get clean like that, mister,” I tease.
“Forget that. Why’d you stop?”
“Out of soap.” I shrug and turn around, smiling, as I rinse the soap off my front.
Suddenly, his mouth is at my ear, his cock tapping on my back for attention.
“Your ass is pink,” he whispers as if he’s impressed. He starts to massage it with his soapy hand, his hard dick poking between my cheeks.
“Hm…I wonder why that could be?”
He spreads the soap gently across my cheeks and then slides his fingers down my crack.
“Those were love taps, baby.” And even though he’s behind me, I can tell that he’s smiling.
I turn around and reach for the shampoo, wanting to at least step out of here at some point with clean hair. I dig my fingers through my hair quickly, lathering up just enough, when purely by accident, a big blob of suds falls squarely on my boob. I feel it oozing down over my areola, and I glance down to see my pink, hard nipple peeking through the bubbles.
I look up at Cal. He’s stopped washing and is staring with his big brown, bedroom eyes at the soapy glob on my breast. His cock jerks and he grabs it, squeezing and moving his hand slowly up and down. I watch him, fascinated.
He looks at me and exhales loudly. “Sorry. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a hot woman in my shower. Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a hot woman anywhere.”
I’m a hot woman? I beam, anxious to please him now. I lean my head back, rinsing quickly and moving around him so he can get under.
“Your turn.”
“Oh. I get a turn?” he asks, excited, as he moves under the shower head.
“Of course you do.” I squeeze some soap into my hand and lathering it up. I kneel down in front of him, working the soap into a rich, thick lather, and then I run my hands around each of his thighs, sliding my fingers behind him through his cheeks, and back down to his tight, fuzzy balls where I massage and rub.
“Mm.” He moans, flexing his hips and placing his hand on my head.
I move my hands to his cock, taking over where he left off, sliding them up and down, enjoying the silky feel of his erection against my lips, and then I lick him, long and hard like a Popsicle.
I feel his legs tremble as he places his other hand on my head, too, bracing and balancing himself. I raise up on my knees, one hand gripping his cock and the other hand gripping his ass. I stretch out my tongue, licking the very tip as I roll my eyes up at him. He watches me, his eyes half-closed in ecstasy, and then he pushes my head down slowly with his hand. I suck and roll my tongue, trying to take all of him into my mouth, and I don’t stop until I feel him in the back of my throat. Slowly, I raise my mouth back up, sucking and licking as I go.
“Oh, baby!” He moans, his legs tensing, and I know he’s almost undone. He fists his hands in my hair, driving my head up and down, flexing his hips back and forth as he pants.
I begin to gag as he pumps himself further and further into my throat. But, he doesn’t seem to notice or he doesn’t care. He is lost in the pleasure. So, I let him continue as I gag and suck and lick, and he fucks my mouth with such enthusiasm that I almost come.
“Ellie…” He groans. “I’m…ahh…fuck!” he screams, and I know he’s gone. I still my tongue, sucking gently, and he pulls my head hard into him as he flexes his hips into my face. A stream of warm come hits the back of my throat and I cradle my tongue around him as I swallow. He convulses, twitching and spasming, and crying out. Then he flexes into me again, still spasming, and I swallow a second time, then a third.
He stands there for a moment stroking my hair, recovering, and then he takes a deep breath, lifts me to his chest and wraps his arms around me, squeezing me like a treasure.
“Well, that was just bad manners on my part, wasn’t it?” he says, grinning. “I did try to warn you.”
I giggle against his chest. “You’re not very good at warning me about stuff.”
He laughs. “You’re right. I need to work on that.”
“We’re going to turn into a couple of prunes if we don’t get out of here.” I hold up my wrinkly fingers and examine them.
“Come here,” he says, lifting me off my feet and kissing me. “Let’s go downstairs and I’ll make you some breakfast.”
Chapter Fourteen
By the time I finish drying my hair, the bathroom is swathed in morning sun. I give my hair one last sweep with Cal’s hairbrush, and then I step out into the cool bedroom for my first good look at the room in the daylight. I’m not disappointed. I glance at the faux Kandinsky, and then rest my eyes on the soft, hulking bed beneath it. I smile, remembering the raw, almost brutish sex that I shared with Cal last night and then again this morning.
Maybe some women might want the whispers of a soft, gentle romantic, and I do, too, sometimes, but that’s not what I needed last night. I needed to release a year of abstinence and a newly formed sexual fantasy. I needed a confident, mature, experienced lover. I needed Cal Stone.
My eyes shift to the other side of the room where a shiny, polished rail extends the entire length of the loft. It’s made from the same old oak as the table and the mantle downstairs. It’s beautiful. I assume he made that, too, and I smile. He’s so hot and so manly and…so capable.
I shiver and pull the bath towel tight around me. The smell of something delicious wafts up the stairs and my stomach growls. I haven’t had anything substantial to eat since lunch at Aunt Jo’s yesterday. I pecked at my salad last night, having lost my appetite once I figured out my date was a nut job.
Hm…what to wear? Once again, I have no clean clothes. I decide I have no choice but to put my dirties back on. I look over at the chair where I left them last night, but they’re not there. I walk over and look behind the chair, no clothes. I look under the chair, beside the chair, under the chair cushion. Still, no clothes. I’m getting really tired of things disappearing on me.
I walk to the far side of the room and lean over the railing. Cal is in the kitchen cooking. He whistles happily, flitting from the stove to the fridge, to the sink, and back to the stove again. Oh good! He’s a flitter-er, too! I smile. Strange how he looks totally different to me now than he did standing on my porch just yesterday. No less sexy, just different.
I wonder briefly how old he is. Thirty-five-ish? And, then I wonder why he’s alone. It’s got to be by choice, I’m sure. He’d be a catch by any girl’s standards. I stare at him in his tight gray T-shirt and faded jeans, whisking around barefoot whistling in his kitchen. He’s hotter than hell. My eyes move across the rooms downstairs, the table, the fireplace, the railing that my hands are resting on. He built all this himself. He built it in the woods, away from town, away from people, to be alone. Why? I start to feel guilty for spying.
“Hey there, Chef Ramsey,” I call down.
“Oh, good morning! Who?” He looks up at me, confused.
“No one.” I laugh. Of course, he doesn’t know who that is. He doesn’t seem the kind to sit around and watch cooking shows. “Something sure does smell good down there.”
“That would be your breakfast, little lady,” he says, carefully flipping something on the stove. “Come on down and get you some. I made coffee, too.” He waves a spatula toward the counter.
“Well, I’d love to. But my clothes seem to have disappeared on me.”
“Oh. They’re in the washer.” He looks up from the stove as if he’s been struck with a sudden epiphany. “Hey, let’s just both stay naked today.”
I picture myself trying to eat breakfast in the nude. “Um…no.” A girl’s gotta draw the line somewhere.
He smiles. “Well, I tried. Look in my dresser and find you something. Your clothes will be done in about an hour.”
I turn around and head toward his dresser, disappointed. He might look great in his clothes, but they’re not particularly flattering on me. I’d rather have something I don’t have to hold up.
I start sliding open drawers, scrounging around for something. I find his underwear drawer. Success! Grabbing a pair of his navy boxers, I pull off the towel, and slip them on. I roll the waistband down to my hips so they don’t fall off, and decide that they’ll do. Now, for a shirt.
I slide open a couple more drawers, but nothing in them interests me, mainly socks and tighty whities. But then I slide open the bottom drawer and I freeze. My breath catches as if I’d stumbled onto the Hope Diamond. It’s full of pictures. Well, well. What have we here?
I pull out a framed photo of a much younger Cal with a stunning blonde sitting at a table surrounded by tiki torches on the beach. He looks casual and relaxed, with not a care in the world, his inky hair a bit longer than it is now, sun bleached, and mussed, as usual. Half dressed, his broad chest and flat stomach are tanned and lithe. And, the woman beside him is no less attractive. She’s young, thin, and appears a lot more confident in a bikini than I ever could be, with good reason by the looks of it. She and Cal are both smiling with their arms draped around each other, holding up their drinks for the camera, happy.
Carefully, I put it back down and pick up the next one. It’s a black and white photo of the same woman, alone this time, sitting on a big, smooth rock with the wind blowing through her long, lovely hair as it dances around her face and shoulders. She looks doleful and distant, as if someone intruded on a very private moment, stealing a picture while she was resting alone with her thoughts. I run my finger across the glass. She’s beautiful. I wonder who she is?
I scratch through a few more photos, mostly Cal, the woman, or Cal and the woman. Hm. I smooth out the pictures and close the drawer, feeling like I’ve snooped enough for one day.
I stand up and pad over to the closet, looking around for my next item of apparel. Suit after tailored suit on one side, along with starchy button-up shirts, and about a hundred ties of every color and design I can imagine. I look across to the other side. Ah! This is my side. I pass my fingers through a sea of jeans and old cotton T-shirts before plucking one off the hanger, and pulling it over my head. I tug it down over my hips. It fits nicely over his boxers, and doesn’t hang down to my knees. There!
I hang my wet towel in the bathroom, straighten the covers on the bed, and then head off down the stairs for my first breakfast with Cal. And, hopefully, not my last. I have to admit, against my better judgment, I clearly have it bad for this guy.
“Did you find anything?” he asks, stretching to place some silverware on the bar.
“Yes, I did. Thank you for the use of your shorts and your shirt.” I say, holding out my arms as if to say ‘Ta-Da’! “And, for your toothbrush, and your shower, and your hairbrush, and your hairdryer, and I could go on.” I smile.
He walks around the bar and cocks his head, his eyebrows raised as if he’s examining me. “You know…you look totally revived. And, I’m not sure I want your clothes to dry. I like you in my underwear. They’re kind of sexy on you.”
I laugh. “Well, I think I’m going to need my clothes sooner or later. I can’t go to work dressed like this.”
“I don’t think your co-workers would mind.”
Since they’re all men, he may be right.
“Well, my boss might. And, this would definitely clash with my steel-toed work boots.”
“You wear steel-toed boots to work?” he asks, excited.
I nod. “Dress code.”
His brows draw together as if he’s considering a complicated math problem, and his eyes sparkle with some dark thought. “Now, that is definitely sexy,” he says, grinning slowly and causing my insides to gush. He steps toward me, and another steamy sex-tage flashes through my head. No, no, no.
“Whoa there, tiger.” I laugh, placing my hand against his chest. “If I don’t eat soon, I won’t have the energy to climb back up those stairs.”
He reaches his hands around me, buries his face in my neck, and kisses me softly. “I could just take you here right here,” he threatens, and I’m positive that he could. “But I won’t. I’m starving. Come sit down. It’s ready.”
Whew! Close call. Or, close Cal, as it were. I sit down and he flits back behind the bar, reappearing almost instantly with a plate in each hand. He puts one down in front of me and sits down next to me with the other.
“This has to be the prettiest omelet I’ve ever seen,” I say, honestly as I pick up my fork and start digging in. I close my eyes and moan as I chew. It’s almost as good as the sex this morning. Almost.
“It’s one of the few things I know how to make. Oh! I almost forgot. Coffee.” He jumps up and heads behind the bar again. “Let’s see. You look like a cream and sugar girl to me.”
How does he do that? I smile. “Two sugars, lots of cream. Is that in my file, too?” I ask, not meaning to sound so snarky.
He grins. “Nope. That, my dear”—he places the steamy cup beside my plate and kisses me on top of my head—“was a lucky guess.”
I set a record cleaning my plate. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a meal this much, the omelet, the bacon, the toast, all the way down to the last drop of coffee in my cup, perfect.
Cal looks at my plate and smiles. “More?”
I smile back, embarrassed by my appetite. “Um. No. Believe me, that was more than enough. It was delicious, though. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he says and then returns his attention to his own plate. I stare at him silently for a moment.
“Cal?”
“Hmm?” He looks up, chewing, and then stops, furrowing his brow. “What is it?”
“If you hadn’t been there last night…” I pause. “What would have happened to me?”
He stares at me for a moment, and then begins chewing again, slowly. He swallows, reaching for his coffee and he casually takes a sip, nudging his plate forward to indicate that’s he’s done. I wonder for a second if he’s going to answer me. But then he puts down his cup and stands, turning to me and placing his hand gently on my cheek. He lifts my face so that he can see my eyes.
“Listen to me. I don’t want you thinking about that. We’ll pick him up him today, and I have enough to make sure he goes away for a very long time. Everett, too. Especially, Everett. They’re not going to hurt you. I’ll make damn sure of it.”
I nod and try to swallow the knot that’s formed in my throat. He didn’t really answer my question.
“So, you saved my life,” I mumble.
He sighs, removes his hand from my check, and grabs the plates off the bar. Walking to the kitchen, he says, “Well, I don’t know about that. But even if I wasn’t there, I saw the way you reacted last night when he fell on you. I think you might have been able to take him down yourself.” He chuckles.
He’s kidding, of course. Danny could easily have snapped me like a twig. “Well, it’s easy to beat people up when they’re already unconscious.” I giggle.
“You looked pretty ready to go a few rounds with me, too, when I tried to save you.”
“I thought you were trying to help Danny. I didn’t know what to do. I just knew you weren’t going to take me without a fight.”
“Well, if that was anything even close to make-up sex last night, you can beat me up anytime you want.” He chuckles and kisses me softly.
So, he’s definitely up for a repeat performance. He basically just gave me an open invitation for 24-hour booty call service. I smile.
“I’m going to go put your clothes in the dryer,” he says, sounding very domesticated. “Then I need to make a few calls and check in with the office.”
“You don’t have to go to work, do you?” I sound almost alarmed, and I don’t really know why. Because I don’t want him to leave me.
He shakes his head and smiles. “No. Everything I need to take care of is right here.”
I look at him, all of him, and I sigh. I think I’m falling in love with Callum Stone. And, like everything else in this relationship so far, it’s hard and fast, and there’s no safet
y net. I smile weakly and I blush, forgetting for a second that he’s a mind reader.
He grins. “I’ll be right back.”
I get up and clear the breakfast dishes while he’s gone, and then I grab my purse off the counter where I left it last night. At least that didn’t disappear! I rummage through it and find my phone and a hair tie. Anxious to get my hair out of my face, I claw it up into a thick ponytail and then swoosh it through my fingers. Ahh. That’s much better. I look at my phone. Three missed calls and six texts. Oh crap!
I glance up. Cal isn’t back yet, so I amble toward the living room, scrolling through my texts as I go.
From Johnny—Work @ 8:30 p.m.: Hi. This is Johnny. Leon broke his leg today and we need you to come in at 3 on Monday, instead of 11. Thx.
From Misty @ 9:35 p.m.: R u having lots of sex? Tell Dreamy we said hi. Haha. :)
From Rachael @ 10:45 p.m.: Hey! Get over here to the Starlight. We’re waiting 4 you. xxoo
From Rachael @ 11:50 p.m.: Where r u?
From Rachael @ 12:30 a.m.: I know I told you to get laid. But you still need to check in. Seriously…where r u dammit?
From Rachael @ 1:43am: If I don’t hear from you in the next hour, I’m calling Dreamy.
I sit down on the sofa and read the last message from Rachael again. Crap! Crap! Crap! There’s no way she would have reached him, even if she did call. I check the time on the kitchen clock. It’s not even eight yet. It just feels later because we’ve been up for hours already. I think about my predawn sexcapades with Cal and I grin like a goofy gimp. Snap out of it, Dummy! Call Rachael!
I start to dial Rachael’s number and then I stop. She will want to know where I am and what happened and who it happened with, and why. I can imagine that conversation quickly turning into a nightmare. I have no idea what to even tell her. Text! I decide to send a text instead.
To Rachael: Hey! Sorry I ditched you guys last night. I’m fine. With Cal. Long story. I’ll tell you later. Xxoo