Her Silver Fox

by Koko Brown

  “You can’t come back,” he warned. “Once you walk out there’s no coming back.”

  “But won’t you miss me?” And she kissed him then with a warm, nuzzling sweetness.

  Not without an arsenal of his own, he lifted her and poised her on the tip of his erection. “You’ll never know will you.”

  “No…”

  A fevered sense of want so hot and reckless coursed through him. He kissed her with heartfelt gentleness as he let her go to glide over his hardness. With a discipline which only came from practice, he slowly lifted then released her in a cyclical flux and flow.

  Her orgasm built from an intense litany of repetitive moans that echoed in his ear, providing the fuel to his concentrated thrusts. The louder she was the more manic his rhythm. His uninterrupted penetration and withdrawal not meant for pleasure but to prove a point.

  The feel of her orgasmic flutters startled him but he didn’t lose focus. As his cock slid in and out of her with a powerful driving force, he watched her gaze become unfocused and then her head dropped back on her shoulders. Refusing to let her go, he watched her collapse feverish and sated.

  “I need a time out.”

  Breathing heavily, one eye barely open Shoshana stumbled from the bed, his gloating laughter mocking her unsure steps.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “To the bathroom…I think.” Shoshana squinted at the white wall interrupted with what looked like a real Jackson Pollock.

  “Wrong way.”

  Sporting a crooked smile of embarrassment, Shoshana glanced over her shoulder. Arms folded behind his head, legs splayed wide like a Playgirl centerfold, Patrick Kelly was a wet dream come true. If it weren’t for the call of nature, she’d crawl back in his bed—for round four. As if reading her thoughts, he returned her smile with a devilish wink.

  “Bathroom’s that way.” He jabbed his thumb in the opposite direction.

  “Thank you.” Shoulders thrown back, Shoshana turned around. She noted the fireplace and California king and her shoulders slumped. From where she stood, the bathroom had to be ten yards. Buck naked, canned lights glaring overhead, she multiplied the distance by three.

  “Are you going to use the bathroom or just stand there and look pretty?”

  Was that a backdoor compliment? Conflicted, she stuttered, “I-I’m going to the bathroom.”

  “Take your time, sexy. I love long goodbyes.” Mortified, she watched him prop a pillow behind his head.

  Cheeks on fire, Shoshana put one foot in front of the other. His hooded gaze followed her. Far from being a boost to her self-esteem, she suffered every wriggle and jiggle. She wished her thighs didn’t rub together, and her love handle didn’t have a twin.

  “Don’t take too long.”

  “Or what?” she griped, somewhat on edge for being the afternoon burlesque hour.

  A smile curled his lips. “Or I’m coming in after you.”

  She believed him. A quick cursory glance south and she saw he was already amped for another round.

  Bold, sleek and unwaveringly bright his bathroom mirrored the rest of the house. Gaze riveted to the bathroom mirror, Shoshana sidled up to the sink. Twin, face bowls rose from the center of a slab of white porcelain. Like everything in his penthouse, the countertop was of the finest quality.

  “The finest quality for a fine man,” she whispered, fingering the sleek material. Catching her movements in the bathroom mirror, she glanced up.

  “Can you say a hot mess, boys, and girls?” Her smudged eyeliner and mascara made her look like some Goth kid after an all-night bender. Her uniformly neat ponytail lay limply against her shoulders. Half of it still holstered in a black hair tie, the other stood atop her head.

  Unable to think or do anything beyond her screaming bladder, she wandered over to the toilet. She stalled on the threshold. The guy had not one, but two toilets. Eyeing them both, she finally settled on the taller one only because it looked the most familiar.

  Once done, she decided to hop onto the toilet’s squat counterpart. She straddled the bowl then reached behind her for the handles but didn’t find any.

  “That’s what you get for being fancy, cowgirl…ohhhh,” She’d moved to stand, and a burst of warm water splashed her core. “This is worth the price of admission,” she purred, angling her hips just so. Resisting a second round, she dismounted before he caught her humping his bidet.

  “One last pit stop.” Sighing, she picked up the bar of soap. Lemon-scented bubbles tickled her nose, once again reminding her of the rest of the house and its owner. After drying her hands, she snatched the hair tie from her bedraggled tresses.

  Fingers splayed, she ran them through the long strands, putting them back in order. Next, she fixed her raccoon eyes with warm water and two cotton balls she’d fished out of a glass apothecary jar resting on the counter. Her appearance somewhat satisfactory, she turned to leave but hesitated.

  Her eyes roamed over her full breast, her rounded hips and the pouch. Grimacing she gripped the soft bulge. No infinite number of crunches or leg raises had been able to completely compress it. One of her exes called it her second booty. The fold wasn’t that prominent, yet his teasing sucked. In turn, it affected her self-image and completely destroyed her inhibitions. To the point, she hated undressing in front of anyone let alone prancing across their bedroom in search of the bathroom.

  Flicking off the lights and hopping under the bed covers had always been her modus operandi.

  Squeezing her pooch again, she turned sideways. What had been the butt of jokes to one man had been praised and worshiped by another. Patrick kissed and licked it and every other inch of her body all afternoon.

  And you, you silly ninny dumped him.

  “What am I doing?” she whispered at her reflection.

  “Yes, what are you doing?”

  Shoshana looked into the mirror. Naked as the day as he was born, Patrick stood in the doorway. Like her, his hair stood on top of his head. Unlike her, he looked damned good.

  I was thinking I’ve made a terrible mistake. “I was going to take a shower want to join me?”

  His blue eyes turned stormy as he stalked toward her. “I’ll wash your back if you wash mine.”

  He leaned in to kiss her. At the last minute, she held up her hand, stopping him.

  “Is that my phone or yours?”

  He cocked his head. “Da Baddest Bitch?”

  “Classic hip-hop,” she said, defending her ring tone. “How about you get the water warm and I’ll check who it is. It’s probably only Tyson. He gets a little worried when I don’t check in after a house call.”

  For several beats, he didn’t smile or move just stared at her. “Don’t keep me waiting,” he murmured, expression softening.

  She hadn’t considered absconding in such a ruthless manner but it was better this way. It wouldn’t benefit either of them if she continued to drag this out. Resolute, she scuttled into the bedroom.

  She found her trousers and cell phone at the foot of the bed, the rest of her clothes in the hall. Clothes bundled in her arms the sound of running water playing in the background, Shoshana walked out.

  Less about personal hygiene and more an act of self-preservation for fear of doing something foolish--like going after her--Patrick got in the shower. Of course, he only lasted a whole five minutes. He slammed the water, wrapped a towel around his waist then stomped into the master bedroom.

  Of their own accord, and despite his best efforts, his eyes drifted to the bed. Seeing the rumpled sheets, scattered pillows and crushed duvet cover was like a kick to the gut with a steel-toed boot. Angry, he tossed his bath towel in the center of it all. A moment later, he had all of it sitting in the hall for the weekly wash. He didn’t need a made up bed tonight, he would have found it impossible to sleep anyway.

  Restless, he shoved his legs into a pair of gray sweat pants and matching hoodie. He had half a mind to go running. He needed an outlet for this bottled up
rage. Afraid his trek might lead uptown he sprawled onto the bare mattress. It didn’t take long for his anger to turn inward.

  “Fool you are,” he berated himself. “You aren’t any better at making a woman stay than your pathetic old man.”

  Unable to control a sudden rash impulse, Patrick rolled from the bed in search of his cell phone.

  “Hey, Patrick how a—”

  Cutting through the niceties, Patrick cut Eamonn Kelly off, “Why did you allow her to make a fool of you?”

  The other end of the line fell silent.

  Patrick raked his hand through his hair. “Damn, never mind,” he said with a flat dispassionate voice.

  “Patrick,” his father’s voice floated through the line, preventing him from hanging up. “I wish I could say it was fah you boys ore even my ego. But it was nun of dat. I was crazy about ya mathah. She was one of the reasons I got outta bed in the morning.’”

  “She didn’t deserve your love or anyone else’s,” Patrick spat, remembering the spiteful woman who wouldn’t lift a finger to cook them a meal.

  “If you called to get me to talk ya outta going after a woman, I’m not.”

  Patrick sat up. “What makes you think this is about a woman?”

  “Why else would you call me?” Eamonn’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “I know there’s no love between us.”

  “That’s not true, Eamonn. I love you. I just don’t have respect for you. You checked out, left me to raise me and my brothers on my own.”

  “Yeah, I was a right son of a bitch.” He paused as if contemplating his next words. “Do ya love her, Patrick?”

  Two short months ago, if someone had suggested the concept of love, Patrick would’ve scoffed then called his latest booty call. Love was a novel notion. As was fidelity. And yet, he’d been with no other woman since setting eyes on Shoshana Haufman. And only a strong emotion beyond a transitory lust could explain this abject loneliness.

  “So what if I do.”

  “Did ya tell her?”

  “That’s the rub,” Patrick muttered, his love for Shoshana so newly discovered he hadn’t had the chance.

  “You need to tell her ya love her, Patrick. Act now, think about the consequences later. Now get ya fuckin’ keys and go after her,” Eamonn quietly ordered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  To make up time, Patrick took a taxi uptown. Currently, it was on his side. He’d grilled Luther about Shoshana and discovered she’d hoofed it on foot after eschewing his offer of personally hailing a cab.

  Just outside rush hour, his journey didn’t allow much time for formulating a plan. And once he alighted, he completely forgot his romantic speech.

  “Tell her you love her,” he coached. “Let her know you can’t live without her.”

  Knee deep in his heart-on-his-sleeve speech, Patrick almost missed the small commotion. If it weren’t for all the excited chatter and millennials shouting ‘world star’ or ‘this the real MMA’ he would’ve kept walking. A seasoned New Yorker and Boston transplant, he didn’t blink twice at the man laying spread eagled on the sidewalk. And he didn’t question the knee wedged in the middle of his back. He did notice a woman being manhandled while she struggled to help.

  And that woman was his.

  Days, months even years later Patrick would describe the next few moments as if a switch had been flicked. One minute he was minding his business, preparing to win back the woman he loved, the next he had his arm wrapped around a guy’s throat.

  The choke hold was one of the first moves he’d perfected in a household filled with boys. The other was a body slam. The rapid fire punches to the guy’s mug, he picked up on the neighborhood playground.

  He ignored the pain biting at his knuckles and the blood gushing up like a red geyser from the guy’s nose. His fevered brain anguished, all his concentration dialed into doling out punishment to anyone who dared touch her. His self-discipline proved a blessing and a major flaw. The man beneath him succumbed to his attack yet he’d allowed for an opening, missing the boot aimed at his head.

  “You messed with the wrong bro, bro,” his attacker growled, lifting his foot for another blow.

  Instead of going down, Patrick absorbed the impact and let it flow through him as raw energy. Fists pumping in Popeye-like circles, his assailant danced around him, preparing for another strike while egging on the crowd to record everything. In those few moments of reprieve, Shoshana scuttled into the fray. Eyes shining bright with tears, she bent over the old man.

  “Get your father inside,” he ordered, realizing the extent of her involvement, and wanting to see her safe.

  Just as they began to move, the bro’s bro pointed at Shoshana and her father. “Youse two ain’t going anywhere. I’m gonna finish what that old man started.”

  Coming to his feet, Patrick growled, “You have to go through me first.”

  Bro stopped back-peddling and planted his feet. “Let’s do this.”

  Patrick dodged a misplaced right, delivered a left. Grasping his jaw, Bro stumbled back.

  In those tumultuous seconds, Patrick chanced a look at Shoshana. She’d barely moved ten feet. Realizing she needed him, he advanced on his opponent, dealing him a right hook, then a cross jab which sent him sprawling against the building. Bro tried pushing himself to his feet, he trembled with the effort. Lacking mettle, his knees buckled and he slid to the concrete pavement. It gave Patrick great personal satisfaction to see the shock in the other man’s green eyes as he went down. This would treat him to pick on someone his own age and size.

  Prepared to take on any other challengers from the peanut gallery, Patrick swung on them. Bloody fists raised and ready, his gaze dared anyone to step forward.

  “I’m just an innocent bystander,” one of them cracked. Hands raised, she backed away with two more in tow.

  Patrick tracked them. “Were you entertained?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Patrick nodded his head at her cell. “Delete it.”

  “What…no way, man. This is going up on—”

  Patrick invaded her personal space. “I said, delete it.”

  “Alright…alright,” she acquiesced, fingers punching several buttons on her phone.

  “Happy now?” she held up the phone, showing him her empty cache. An appraising look from Patrick and her companions complied as well.

  “Just so you know the old man started it.”

  Patrick stepped closer. So close, the teen’s pale complexion turned chalk white. “And I finished it. You might be in a skirt but I have no qualm turning you over on my knee and spanking some sense into you…all of you. Now run along.”

  Seeing no other immediate danger, the shit bros still dispatched, Patrick sheathed his claws.

  “Why are you still out here?” He chastised, catching up with them.

  “Slow going.” Visibly shaken, her voice trembled.

  Patrick’s eyes narrowed. Her father had digressed from a nattily dressed man to a bearded mess in a rumpled V-neck undershirt and fleece pajamas.

  “I got him.”

  When he reached for her father, the other man balked, “Get your hands off me,” he growled then winced because his bottom lip was busted.

  “Go open the door,” he ordered Shoshana, and then in a more gentle tone, he said, “I’m a friend of your daughter’s, Mr. Haufman. I’m going to help you inside.”

  “I don’t need your help,” he groused, digging in his heels.

  “Then think of your daughter,” Patrick nodded his head at Shoshana. “She’s pretty shook up. So help her by allowing me to help you.”

  “I only told them smoking wasn’t allowed near playgrounds,” he pointed out, falling into step. “But those clown wouldn’t listen. So I took his cigarette.”

  Patrick frowned. “Sir, the nearest swing set’s in McCaffery Park seven blocks south of here.”

  A flickering uncertainty briefly altered the elder Haufman’s expression. “I must have got little turn
ed around. I came downstairs to…to…to…oh vey! I can’t remember now.”

  Before he got riled up again, Patrick wrapped an arm around him. “It’s okay. How about we get you inside?”

  The next half hour she and Patrick double teamed the elder Haufman. They got him upstairs safely, his wound was cleaned, he scarfed down a BLT sandwich with turkey bacon Patrick fixed him and he allowed her to dispatch him off to bed.

  “How is he?” Patrick asked as she emerged from the bedroom.

  “Taking it way better than I am.” She watched him spring to his feet. All lithe grace and masculine virility. “You’ve been sitting in the hallway the entire time?”

  “In case you needed some help.” He fingered the bruises on his knuckles. “Sorry about earlier. I could’ve made matters worse.”

  “I’m grateful for what you did considering what I did, and how I did it. How messed up was that?”

  His gaze held hers for a stark moment. “How long have you known.”

  “Officially? Only a few hours.” She wrapped her arms around her middle. “I’ve seen signs for over a year. His condition is one of the reasons I took over the family business.”

  “Makes sense. Pushing me away so soon after agreeing to give us a shot.”

  “I didn’t think it would be fair,” her voice was no more than a whisper. “As long as my father is alive I’m going to be there for him.”

  “Then let me be there for both of you.”

  “I can’t ask—”

  “You’re not asking,” he cut in. “It’s my choice.”

  “Why?”

  He stepped closer. “I love you. Isn’t that enough?”