by Rulon, Genna
He turned his head, lightly touching the skin of my inner thigh with his lips while his fingers skated across my stomach, sides, and outer thighs, the combination of sensations resulting in a head-to-toe shiver. When the final minute muscle contraction of the shiver died out, another began as his mouth found the epicenter of my desire. His hum of approval reverberated across my sensitized nerves as he sampled me. The focused attention was more than my body could handle, the pleasure swallowing me whole, blotting out all thought. He skillfully teased until I was panting his name, begging. For the first time, he denied me a request and continued to push me higher without answering my pleas, keeping me on the edge in a state of pleasure I had never known. I was writhing, desperate to reach the Promised Land while never wanting his wicked torment to end. As I clutched his hair in my fists, he added the slightest suction that catapulted me into flight. I was flying through a lightning storm, the currents electrifying my body, causing my every cell to cry out with satisfaction.
When I finally regained my senses, I found that I had melted across Griffin’s body like butter on warm bread, encased in his arms. He had been my rock over the past month, steadfast and unwavering, no matter what crisis or emotional outburst arose. He never made me feel less than or tainted; it was the opposite—he made me feel exceptional and precious. I couldn’t imagine accepting the touch of any other man. The patience and understanding he displayed permeated every aspect of our relationship and interactions. He had insisted my needs come first and his actions proved him a man of his word. Despite all of this, I wasn’t ready to make my declaration, causing my heart to sigh with impatience. Internally, however, I chanted ‘I love you’ with a conviction so strong no one would dare doubt.
Griffin pressed against me, doodling on my back with his dexterous finger.
“How are you?” he asked, the words muffled by my hair.
“Somewhere between ‘can we stay like this all day’ and ‘can we do it again.’”
His laughter rumbled against the side of my face.
“Anything you want.”
“Really?”
“Umm-hmm. Let’s just say I’ve been saving up for a while and now I’m ready to go on a spending spree.”
“Oh, I love it when you talk shopping…such a turn on,” I said, only partially teasing.
“Is it now? Let’s test that claim—Chanel. Gucci. Prada.”
I loved this playful side of him and I moaned loudly, encouraging him.
“That’s right, talk dirty to me.”
And he did while once again proving himself a man of his word—he proceeded to rock my world again, and this time I returned the favor.
Morning dawned and I awoke in Griffin’s bed, the smell of bacon calling me from the kitchen. I rolled out of bed and grabbed my robe, following my nose.
“God bless you,” I said dramatically when I found Griffin in the kitchen adding bacon to a plate that held scrambled eggs, fruit salad, and an English muffin.
“Your coffee is on the table. Take a seat and I’ll have your plate in a minute.”
I obediently followed his directions, excited for my balanced breakfast—okay, I was excited about the bacon. Bacon was one of those foods I only ordered occasionally when dining out. It was a greasy mess to cook and I inevitably burned myself every time, a sad reality since I adored the salty, crispy deliciousness.
Griffin set the plate before me with a self-satisfied smile.
“It was my turn. I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t work the stove.”
I chuckled because I was beginning to suspect exactly that. I didn’t need to taste the meal to know the man could cook. The eggs were the perfect shade of yellow, fluffy and moist without being wet. The bacon was evenly cooked and perfectly crisped. I sampled a bite of everything on the plate before officially offering my praise and gratitude.
“I’m glad I could impress the resident chef,” he said.
“Do these skills translate beyond breakfast foods or is that the extent of your repertoire?”
“Nope, this is just the tip of the iceberg. I am a master of lunch and dinner if it includes pub food or grilling. Kind of a job requirement.”
Right, I had forgotten he would be familiar with the kitchen due to the bar.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” I complained lightheartedly.
“Not exactly. My skills are limited to the menu at The Stop, and after eating the same food regularly for the last ten years, I’m sick of it. With the exception of a few seasonal specials, we have never changed the menu.”
“The food is good and consistent. Customers know what to expect; it’s risky to switch it up. You don’t want to lose your base.”
“Exactly, but it would be nice to expand our offerings and maybe grow our lunch crowd. I’m not complaining, but I don’t want to become complacent.”
I nodded my agreement. I would grab a menu and look at it with new eyes the next time we were at The Stop…actually, I had a better idea.
“Why don’t we invite Ev and Hunter to join us for dinner tomorrow night? We can have dinner at The Stop and give you feedback. Maybe shoot some pool afterwards.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll text Hunter today. I assume you’ll tell Ev at work?”
“Yep.”
I helped with the dishes and hurried to get dressed (after giving Griffin my best ‘thank you’ kiss) so I wouldn’t be late. Luckily, the fickle, often cruel local traffic was in my favor and I arrived with three minutes to spare. I ducked behind the counter while tying my apron.
“What has you so chipper this morning?” Meg asked with a smile.
“I am chipper, aren’t I?” I replied happily.
A chuckle announced Ev’s approach.
“She took another trip to O-Town,” Ev said, certain she was on point. “Am I right? You don’t have to tell me, I know I’m right.”
Per her instructions, I said nothing, just smiled.
“Well, tell me!” Ev demanded. She could claim I overshared as much as she liked, but Ev was the first in line to get the dirty details.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to be too graphic. Let’s just say I had a lovely morning. Then there was last night…but you don’t want to know about all that,” I taunted Ev mercilessly.
“Bitch, you usually say every dirty thought that passes through your head and now you have dirt I’m dying to know and you’re holding out on me? Spill!”
I laughed at her determination. I had every intention of singing like a canary, but it was fun to make her work for it.
“I have officially renewed my membership to the ‘O of the Century’ club. Griffin’s skill with his hands is nothing compared to what his mouth can do. I forgot my own name he was so mind-boggling. His body is spectacular and all those muscles…he’s got the moves and the strength. I actually experienced the fabled standing 69—another item crossed off my sexy bucket list!”
“You have a sexy bucket list?” Meg asked with astonishment.
“Don’t you?”
“No,” she said hesitantly.
“That’s it, I’m buying you a journal for Christmas so you can start your list,” I said resolutely.
“You don’t have to do that,” Meg insisted.
“Oh yes I do. Every girl needs a sexy wish list. You just have to be nice ‘til Christmas so Santa will bring you someone to be really naughty with.”
Ev laughed, but I could see the cartoon bubble pop up over her head with Hunter wrapped up in a big bow.
“No, I really…don’t,” Meg sighed. “Can I be honest?”
Ev and I both nodded. Meg was so serious and reluctant, neither of us wanted to discourage her from sharing.
“I—” Meg began before abruptly stopping to assess us again. “I don’t get it—all the hype. I’ve done it, of course, but I still don’t get it. I used to think girls were just talking it up to be cool—like the musical ‘Cats.’ Everyone tells you to go see it, so you do, and when the curtain falls you’
re left scratching your head wondering if you went to a different play, but you tell everyone you loved it because it’s expected. Is there something wrong with me if I hated ‘Cats’? Does it make me a bad person? Is there something wrong with me?” she asked with desperation.
Ev and I looked at each other with the same shocked and dismayed expressions.
“Um, Meg, honey…that may be one of the saddest things I have ever heard. I doubt there is anything wrong with you other than your shit choice of bedmates. How many men have you been with?” Ev asked calmly.
“Two.”
“Really? That’s hardly a broad enough sample to draw the conclusion that sex is overrated. You just need to find the right guy…a man who knows what all of his parts are for and how to work all of yours,” Ev tried to comfort her.
“Maybe, I don’t know. The guys seemed happy and said how amazing it was, but all I really thought was ‘I missed five minutes of The Voice for that?’ I would have been closer to getting off from watching Blake Shelton’s sexy ass nestled in that big red chair.”
“Blake Shelton is hot,” I said, as Ev chimed in with, “Screw that…Adam Levine is sex on a damn stick!”
Ev and I shot each other menacing looks over our longstanding feud about the hottest judge on The Voice. I wanted to stick up for Blake, but Meg needed my help more at the moment.
“Five minutes? Really? The only time that’s acceptable is if you’re in public,” I said, now that it was clear what her problem was. Meg was one of those unfortunate women who had only encountered bedroom duds and what she needed was a stud—a tried and true stallion with a proven record.
“You have taken the magic carpet ride to the Taj Mah-O at some point though, right?” I asked.
“Only when flying solo,” she said, a blush tinging her cheeks.
“Okay, then it’s not you…you are able, your collaborators were just incompetent. Let’s face it, a few in-and-outs is all it takes for men to find the Promised Land. You need a man who doesn’t want to take the trip unless you are along for the ride; his pleasure needs to be rooted in yours as much as his own. If Hunter found his before me, he wouldn’t rest until I was screaming his name—he just wouldn’t be content otherwise,” Ev said, a satisfied smile tipping her lips at the thought of Hunter’s prowess.
“Same here. Griff would use every weapon in his vast arsenal to make sure I detonated. And let me tell you, what that man can do with his mouth—”
“Please, continue to rub it in. My sanity was growing tedious anyway,” Meg interjected dryly.
“Sorry,” I said sheepishly.
“You’re a free agent right now. Are you looking for the real deal or just a little fun?” Ev asked.
“I’m taking a break from the whole relationship drama. All I want right now is a wild, commitment-free, scream-filled ride on a champion bull.”
“Maybe we can run a promotion—50% off all beverages for hot, single men,” I suggested. It would attract a new crop of potential broncos for Meg to consider.
“Not a brothel! How many times must I remind you,” Ev scolded me. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled for you, Meg. I embrace any project that requires me to scope out hot guys.”
“Don’t knock yourselves out. I’m resigned to a life where the hottest sex I experience is in the books I read.”
Meg excused herself to collect supplies from the back—clearly ready to escape the conversation.
Now that was just sad! Poor Meg needed her own Griffin or Hunter to set her world on fire. I silently promised to look for the right man to deliver her first hands-free orgasm.
“By the way, do you and Hunter want to join us for dinner at The Stop tomorrow?”
“Sounds good. Pool tourney?” Ev asked. The pool shark in her was dying to go for a swim.
“You know it.”
"There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it." -Oscar Wilde
Wednesday proved to be a continuation of the day prior at Higher Yearning. Meg and I spent our shift scoring male patrons on their overall appearance, and I enlightened her about the indicators for optimal bed buddies. I resorted to using the education degree system, in case we were overheard by customers. So far we’d had a handful with a Master’s and one potential Ph.D., the rest were Bachelor’s or the dreaded GED. I insisted Meg set her sights on an aesthetic eight or higher with at least a Master’s degree in mattress sciences. I did concede, however, that a seven with a Ph.D. would be acceptable. Yes, it was shallow, but our goal was her satisfaction for a tryst…we weren’t husband-hunting. An entirely different paradigm was necessary for life mates.
Meg felt my benchmark was set too high, which I found comical. The girl was naturally gorgeous, unassumingly and effortlessly so. Her straight, chocolate-colored hair had volume without overwhelming her beautiful face, which was a blend of the girl-next-door and a hint of exotic. Her hazel eyes shone with kindness, balancing her wide, welcoming smile. She was tall, probably five feet nine inches, and her slim body possessed curves men longed to touch—like a Victoria’s Secret Angel. Yet, Meg had no clue she was naturally a nine, and with any effort she would be off the charts. She thought even an eight was too high for her. It wasn’t that she was insecure, she just didn’t see her appeal the way an objective observer did.
I kept my predictions to myself, but was confident she could land a ten if she exhibited any interest. Meg was the type of girl who attracted men with her outer shell, but could keep them glued by her inner beauty. She was the rare girl who could inspire a man to change because she was so damn good. However, I knew it would be a waste of my breath telling her any of that. Like most people, she would readily believe every negative comment thrown at her, but would shrug off genuine compliments. Why was it so much easier to accept the hurtful remarks? We humans were a messed up lot.
As my shift drew to a close, I realized my gym bag was in the car. I preferred to change at work rather than the gym’s locker room, so I headed out to grab it. Dusk had painted the sky a myriad of pinks, purples, and oranges, so breathtaking it caused me to pause and soak in the majesty. It was these little moments of wonderment I collected to remind myself of the splendor of life.
I was still marveling at the sunset’s beauty as I approached my car and therefore was unprepared for the black mass that sprang from a crouched position near my rear tire before running past me, nearly knocking me off my feet in the process. What the hell? I turned back to my car and noticed the flattened tires. Whoever that son of a bitch was slashed my tires! I rounded the far side of the car, only to be greeted by more of the same. I was going to need another ten sunsets to balance my current anger. I checked my windshield and sure enough, tucked beneath my wiper was another folded piece of paper. I snatched the fluttering page and opened it.
Oh, for fuck’s sake—were they teaching creative writing classes at the prison? This was getting ridiculous. I was too concerned with the waste of taxpayer dollars to actually be scared of his whimsical death threats. Perhaps that wasn’t entirely true…fear had seeped in at the same moment my bewilderment at the method of intimidation wore off. I was painfully aware of what the monster was capable of. Normally I would dismiss the warnings as a pathetic joke, but my first-hand knowledge of his vile proclivities, combined with the vandalism of my car, was proof that I could not ignore the danger. Despite my desire to downplay what had just occurred, I knew I had to confess the truth to Griffin and Hunter.
I slid my phone from my pocket and called AAA. As I was hanging up, I heard Griffin call my name and I tried to shake off my anger—he would have enough for the both of us.
“Over here,” I called, preparing myself to break the news.
“There you are. Meg said you came out here over fifteen minutes ago.”
I walked into Griffin’s chest and wrapped my arms around his waist, needing the shelter only he could provide. After a few minutes, he broke our silence.
“I’m not going to
like this, am I?”
“Not one bit. I found another note on my car a few minutes ago.”
“Son of a—”
“He slashed my tires and nearly knocked me on my ass when he ran. Whoever it was didn’t even have the courtesy to apologize. I know he’s a criminal, but is it really too much to ask that he offer a simple ‘excuse me’ while making his getaway?”
“You saw him? He was close enough to touch you?” Griffin’s voice was deceptively even. There was only a thread of restraint hidden in his calm and most would miss it, but I knew him well enough to pick it out.
“Yeah.”
“We need to call Hunter and get him to send someone to check for prints or evidence. Okay?”
I nodded against his chest and felt him reach into his pocket. He led me back inside Higher Yearning to wait for Hunter. Neither of us said anything until Ev joined us. I brought her up to speed, while watching Griffin clench and unclench his fists, the only sign of his bridled anger.
After Hunter and a Suffolk County Police Detective finished taking my statement and inspecting the crime scene, they released my car to be towed. Det. Norse offered to bring in a sketch artist to capture an image of the culprit, but I assured him it would be a waste. The only part I saw for more than a second was his back. He was dressed in a generic black sweatshirt with the hood raised. I was too shocked to retain any memory of his face. The only description I could provide was that he was a male, about six feet tall. I thought he had dark hair, but I wasn’t even certain about that detail.
Hunter sat next to Ev and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “We’ll see what the crime scene investigators turn up, but I’m not optimistic. So far, there haven’t been any prints on the previous notes. I’ve been beating my head against a wall trying to find a tie between any members of the Varbeck family and the threats you have been receiving. It was a struggle to get a judge to grant a warrant for their financials, which are astronomical—I’m searching for a needle in a haystack. His parents swear they’ve had no part in threatening you, and of course they claim they didn’t authorize payoffs to witnesses. I can’t prove shit! If Heath is arranging the threats from behind bars, I haven’t found any proof. He’s had no outside visitors beyond prison staff and psych evaluators. No outgoing mail, no emails, nothing,” Hunter finished with irritation.