He rested his chin against the palm of his hand. “Based on your level of excitement, I’m going to guess this is a first for you.”
I smiled. “Yep.”
He stood and gestured to toward my knees. “Hike that dress up around your waist, pitch the panties, and kick your feet up on the table.”
I swallowed heavily. “Right here?”
“Right here.”
I exhaled a long, nervous breath. “Okay.”
With my heels resting on the table, my bare ass resting on the edge of the kitchen chair, and my dress wadded in a ball at my waist, I gazed between my legs and waited anxiously.
After jockeying into position, Tyson looked up and smiled.
“I have no idea what to do,” I said. “So, you’ll need to guide me through this.”
He popped his neck. “Just close your eyes and enjoy.”
“Do I have to close my eyes?”
He glanced between my legs. “You can watch if you want.”
I smiled guiltily. “Okay.”
He wedged his shoulders between my knees and lowered his face toward my happy place. Taken by complete surprise, I sucked a breath as he inserted a finger and bit my lip when he added another. After bringing me to near climax, he slid his fingers free of my confines.
His breath against my wetness caused me to tremble with excitement.
Filled with wonder, I pushed my wadded dress to the side and gazed between my legs. His mouth encompassed the upper portion of my mound. A jolt of excitement ran through me. Other than the top of his head, there wasn’t much to see, but knowing his mouth was on my cootch was enough to drive me wild with anticipation.
Then, something happened. Something of epic sexual proportion.
What in the…
It happened again.
Micro-convulsions raced through me.
My eyes shot wide.
I resisted at first, squirming each time his lips or tongue met my sensitive nub. Softly and gently, he continued. I embraced the magic, pushing my pussy hard against his mouth. Deep within me, pressure built until I feared I’d burst into a million little pieces.
It had only been a minute since he’d started, and I doubted I could last for another. A decade of exploring myself had produced numerous sensations, none of which were anything like what I was experiencing.
I closed my eyes and channeled my focus. Predictably, his tongue flicked against my clit. Suck, flick, suck, flick, suck, flick…
Mere seconds later, a wave of emotion engulfed me. I pressed myself hard against his mouth and prayed he continue doing exactly what it was that brought me to the pinnacle of sexual pleasure.
Blindly, my hands flailed about, searching for something to grab. After finding nothing, they landed on either side of Tyson’s whiskered face.
I gripped his head in my hands and arched my back.
Like a spring storm’s raindrops against a window, small sensations tapped away at the surface of my skin until everything was tingling.
My body convulsed. Muscles tensed.
My eyes opened wide, but I saw nothing. Then, the tension escaped me, leaving me as nothing but a puddle of exhausted emotion seated at a kitchen table.
I glanced between my legs.
Tyson looked up. His mouth glistened with my juices.
“Kiss me,” I said.
He pushed my chair away from the table and leaned over me.
I lifted my head and pressed my lips to his.
The musky scent of my satisfaction tickled my nose. A hint of his cologne followed. He straddled my thighs. Feverishly, I kissed him, eagerly sucking my juices from his lips.
We’d made a pact to start and stop with a kiss. For most, that kiss would have marked the ending of the night’s sexual adventures.
For me?
It marked the beginning.
36
Tyson
I pushed my hand against the pillow, paused, and then lifted it. Slowly, it took its original shape. “Seems weird,” I said. “It doesn’t pop back into shape. It’s really slow.”
“Yours are crappy. I don’t know where you got them or how long you’ve had them, but we need to replace them.” She nodded toward the pillow. “That is how a pillow is supposed to be.”
It was my first pillow shopping excursion. I let out a dreadful sigh. “Okay.”
“How long have you had them?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“They say you should replace good pillows every eighteen months. Crappy ones, every six months.”
I laughed to myself. I hadn’t replaced my pillows since my father passed. In fact, I hadn’t changed anything since his death. I still had the same dishes, the same furniture, the same bedding, and the same everything.
Fearing repercussion if I admitted it, I gestured to the pillows in question. “Let’s get these, then.”
We’d spent the last several weeks alternating nights at each other’s homes. Most of Jo’s nights in my home were spent sleeping without a pillow. After her first complaint, I agreed to replace the old pillows with new ones. If it took pillows for her to feel comfortable in my home, I’d fill it with them.
“It’s probably why you pop your neck all the time,” she said.
“What is?”
“Sleeping on those awful pillows.”
“They’re not awful.”
“They’re polyester, and they feel like they’re a million years old. Your shoulder’s more comfortable.”
“Should we get bedding, too?”
“Can you afford to?” she asked. “I can pitch in. I don’t mind.”
I didn’t make it known, but the wrongful death settlement I’d received from the Sherriff’s department set me up for life. Inheriting my father’s investments were icing on the financial cake.
I’d taken the job at FedEx for one reason only – because it exposed me to horny housewives. Horny housewives minimized the chances of someone falling in love with me. Servicing the women on my route left my evenings and weekends free. The decision to take the job was a no-brainer.
I now felt like a douchebag for ever thinking it was a good idea.
“I can afford it,” I said. “Let’s pick some out.”
An hour of paisley prints, chevron patterns, and floral designs later, and we still hadn’t made a decision. Shopping was definitely a girl’s passion, but I couldn’t imagine Jo doing it without me. One of the many sacrifices I expected I’d make to spend a lifetime with her at my side.
“I can’t decide,” she said. “I like them all.”
“Maybe pick two,” I suggested. “And we can rotate them.”
Her eyes beamed with excitement. “Can we?”
I wanted the home to be ours. It was my first step in that direction. “Sure.”
My commitment to buy pillows and bedding somehow morphed into bed sets that included big pillows, small pillows, overstuffed pillows, slender pillows, round pillows, and pillows that were actually pillows. In fact, we’d purchased so much bedding that taking it home in my car wasn’t an option.
Four hours later, as the delivery truck backed into the driveway, Jo jumped from her position on the couch and ran across the living room.
Brimming with excitement, she stood in the doorway with her hands covering her mouth. “I can’t believe it’s here.”
“They said they’d bring it before six,” I said. “How can you not believe they’re here?”
“It’s so exciting,” she exclaimed.
Being with Jo was a constant reminder that excluding sex, I knew nothing of what it took to make a woman happy. Seeing her elated over something as simple as bedding hinted at who she truly was. Her desires didn’t venture beyond life’s necessities. She was a modest woman with minimal needs, most of which I could satisfy by simply providing her with my love and affection.
We spent the evening washing the new bedding, stripping the bed, re-making it, and arranging the pillows. When we were done, she s
tood in the corner of the room and admired her handiwork.
“Now I want new bedding,” she said.
I stared at the mountain of pillows, confused. “You have new bedding.”
“I mean for me,” she replied. “This stuff is yours.”
“It’s ours.”
“It just seems weird. There’s your house, and there’s my house,” she argued. “I don’t feel like I live in either one of them. It’s like I’m in limbo, or whatever.”
Strangely, I felt the same way. Early in our relationship, I liked the separation. Knowing at the end of the day that I could retire to the comfort and solitude of my own home. I now had no desire to spend so much as a single night without her.
“We need to think about consolidation,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
We’d silently made the decision to sleep at each other’s homes. A few nights here and a few nights there was getting old. It was time we discussed taking our relationship one step further.
“This is, I don’t know, kind of silly,” I said. “We sleep at your house for a few days, sleep here for a few days. We need to get our heads together and decide what we’re going to do. We need to pick a place and live there.”
She gasped. “Move in together?”
I looked at the pillow pile. In the past few minutes, it seemed to have multiplied. “Yeah. Like normal people.”
“My home is perfect,” she said excitedly. “It’s older, but the bedrooms are much bigger. The kitchen’s just been redone, too.”
I hadn’t given moving into her home any consideration, whatsoever. Moving away from the home my father raised me in seemed like an impossible task.
“I was thinking we’d live here,” I said.
“Oh.” Her eyes searched the room before meeting mine. “We can talk about it.”
I nodded toward the pillow pile. “Maybe sleep on it.”
She smiled. “With our new pillows?”
“Our new pillows,” I said. “I like the way that sounds.”
37
Jo
One of my fondest memories of my parent’s home was the smell of breakfast being cooked. Nothing made me get out of bed on a weekend morning quicker than a hint of my mother’s cooking.
I opened the oven and wafted the odor of the bacon toward the bedroom. A few minutes later, while I was contemplating waking him up, Tyson stumbled into the kitchen.
“Those new pillows are amazing,” he said. “I slept like a baby.”
“Well, after sleeping on them at the other house, I only thought it was fitting that we get them here.”
“Is that bacon?” He stepped up behind me and peered over my shoulder. “Smells good.”
“Until you give me a kiss, it’s off-limits,” I said.
He rested his hands on my waist and gave me a light peck on the cheek. “You cooked it in a cookie sheet?”
“It cooks evenly that way. Four hundred degrees for sixteen minutes, and it’s perfect,” I said. “You can cook a bunch of it at once, too.”
He reached around me and snatched up two pieces. “I love bacon.”
“Everyone loves bacon.”
Before meeting Tyson, I never understood the satisfaction my mother seemed to get from cooking. Now, everything made sense. Short of sex, nothing equaled the feeling of preparing a meal for a man and having him express satisfaction while devouring it.
I placed the skillet on the burner. “Over medium?”
“It’s the way God eats his eggs,” he said with a laugh. “That’s what my dad told me when I was little. In my dreams, I envisioned a man with a big gold robe, long gray hair, and a scruffy beard mopping up the yolks with dry whole wheat toast.”
“God eats dry whole wheat toast?”
“I thought so.”
“That’s funny. He wears a gold robe, too?”
“When I was a kid, I had this image of him conjured up. Gray hair, salt and pepper beard, weathered skin. Tan. Actually, I think the robe was burgundy with gold trim. And, he wore sandals. No pants.”
I tossed a slice of butter in the skillet and glanced over my shoulder. “God goes commando?”
“I didn’t give that much thought. He didn’t wear pants, though. Not in my mind.”
“Shorts?”
“Nope,” he said. “Just a robe.”
“Sitting around in his robe eating eggs over medium?”
“It’s funny. I ate scrambled eggs until dad told me that. He always ate them over medium, and I thought they looked like big yellow eyes. I asked him why he ate them that way, and he said, ‘that’s the way God eats them’. After that, I couldn’t eat a scrambled egg, knowing God ate his over medium. I’ve eaten them over medium since.”
“Sitting around in his robe,” I said with a laugh. “What kind of chair does God sit in? Or, what did he sit in when you conjured up this childhood image?”
“Throne,” he said matter-of-factly. “Carved of the finest wood. The legs were like a lion’s leg.”
“He sat in a fine wood throne and wore a robe. Did he drink milk?”
“Wine.”
“With breakfast?”
“With everything,” he said. “He got it at the liquor store, right inside the pearly gates”
“What was his mode of transportation?” I asked. “A chariot?”
He smiled. “Of sorts.”
“Let me guess.” I tapped the tip of my index finger against my lip and gazed at the ceiling. After a moment of phony contemplation, I met Tyson’s gaze. “He drove a Cobra?”
“Back then he drove a Mustang GT. He didn’t start driving a Cobra until I got a little older.”
Loving Tyson came easily. In many respects, he was still the child his father abandoned. He was thirty-five years old and hadn’t been given an opportunity to share his life, his stories, or his beliefs with anyone.
I liked that I had become that person.
“I love you,” I said.
He kissed me again, this time for real. “I love you, too.”
After cooking our breakfast, I placed the plates at the breakfast nook table. “You better hurry, or you’re going to be late for work, mister.”
“I’ve reached a point that I’m kind of ready for them to fire me.”
I looked up. “What?”
He sat down. “I’m over it.”
“Over what? Working there?”
He cut through the edge of one of his eggs. “Yeah.”
I was shocked. I suspected he’d retire from FedEx. I couldn’t imagine him doing anything else. “I had no idea you were dissatisfied with them.”
He poked the egg in his mouth and bit the corner off his toast. “It’s a stupid job.”
“You’ve worked there since high school.”
“Doesn’t make it any better of a job.”
“You must have liked it at one point or another.”
He gave me a lingering look. “Not anymore.”
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know.” He looked away. “I’m thinking about it.”
“So, there’s change on the horizon?”
He mopped the yolk from his plate with what remained of his toast. “I’m thinking so.”
The thought of Tyson making changes was exciting. I desperately wanted him to find a way to see my home as inviting, eventually sell his home, and then move in with me. Until that moment came, I couldn’t see it as anything but a pipe dream.
As I nibbled at my bacon I began to wonder if it might someday become reality.
He pushed his plate to the side and took a drink of milk. “That breakfast was spot-on. Just like Pop used to make it.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s difficult as hell to get eggs just the way I like ‘em, but you sure do a good job of it.”
I smiled. “I’m glad you enjoy them. I think it’s that new stove more than anything. They put it in when they re-did the kitchen. Cooking on it is easy.”
“We
ll, whatever you’re doing, don’t change anything.” He finished his milk. “They’re just the way I like them.”
I swelled with pride. “It’s ninety percent appliance, and ten percent cook. Sometimes, I think that new stove could cook things by itself.”
“I have my doubts.” He stood and reached for his plate. “I’m going to hop in the shower.”
“I’ll clean up,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. “You’re going to be late if you’re not careful.”
He came around the edge of the table and kissed me on the neck. “I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you, too.”
While he showered, I nibbled my bacon and dreamed.
Not of God driving a Mustang Cobra or eating over medium eggs in his gold-clad robe, but of the day Tyson and I could share a home and eat God’s choice of eggs in our very own kitchen.
38
Tyson
John plucked a football from the trough, looked it over, and then let it dangle at his side. “Can’t say I know if it really matters. Six months. Twelve months. Eighteen months. Hard sayin’ what’s normal. When the time comes, I ‘spect you’ll know it.”
“I feel like it’s already here, and I’m just too set in my ways to accept it.”
“Been livin’ on your own for half as long as you been on this earth,” he said. “Makes sense that you’d be kind of cantankerous when it comes time to make change.”
“You aren’t opposed to us living together?” I asked. “When the time does come?”
“When the time comes?” He belted out a long belly laugh. “Need I remind you that the two of you have been ‘living together’ for some time now? Remember, Jo tells her mother everything. Then, that woman tells me everything.” He hoisted the ball, hesitated, and then threw it through the center of the tire. “That chain of events makes me kind of all-knowing.”
“I was meaning actually living in one home,” I explained. “Right now, I feel like I’m sleeping in a hotel half the time.”
“Jackie and I moved here when my father fell ill. Hell, we lived here when we got married. At first it seemed strange, living with my wife in the very same home I grew up in.”
The Fed Sex Man: Hot Contemporary Romance Page 23