The Science of Loving

by Candace Vianna

  “Your dad told me while I was waiting for you. Don’t worry; he’s not going to air your mom’s dirty laundry. Morals clauses aren’t enforceable in California.”

  “Well, then I gave Mom good advice. I told her to talk to her attorney.”

  “Okay, what else?”

  “Men,” she said weakly.

  “Men in general, or a specific man?”

  “A little of both, I suppose.”

  “Dare I ask?”

  “I’d really rather you didn’t.”

  “Shit. Let me guess, she thinks I’m not good enough for you.”

  “No, she just pointed out our differences.” She sounded defeated, her voice tinged with bitterness. I waited for her to elaborate, hiding my smile when she gave in with a huff. “She said I wasn’t woman enough to keep a man like you.” What. The. Fuck.

  “I don’t care if she is your mom, that’s fucked up. You’re not buying into that crap, right.”

  “No, of course not.” God, she was a terrible liar. Okay, I guess she needed to be shown. It would probably take all night… all day tomorrow… Mmmm… tomorrow night…

  “Did she at least pay for lunch?”

  “I didn’t stay for lunch, I lost my appetite.”

  “Okay, dinner first. We can’t have you passing out from hunger while I’m demonstrating how much of keeper you are.”

  “Sandwiches good for you?” Mat dragged me to the kitchen like a man on a mission, digging through the refrigerator, handing out packets of cheese and cold cuts.

  “Sure.” I’d eat anything if it stopped his questions. We worked side by side building our sandwiches. Mine, just a few modest layers of meat and cheese, with a bit of lettuce for some added crunchiness; his, a Dagwood, piled high with turkey, ham, salami, lettuce, tomatoes, two kinds of cheese, and—were those jalapenos—with a teetering slice of bread carefully placed on top—there’s no way that’s going to fit into his mouth—he admired it for a moment then using his giant paw, smashed it into submission. Okay, it just might fit—barely.

  We ate quietly, our mouths too full for conversation. I watched astonished, halfway through my second beer when he stuffed the last morsel into his mouth. “How can you eat like that and not weigh a million pounds?”

  “You do see how big I am? This is just a snack to hold me over until an unsuspecting toddler strolls by—now, there’s a meal.”

  “Any relation to Fat Bastard?”

  “Yeah, he’s my Scottish third cousin twice removed… via Mexico… He’s known in the hood as El Gordo Bastardo. He’s the reason kilts and mawashis are banned at family gatherings.”

  “Mawashis?”

  “Sumo wrestlers’ loincloths.”

  Huh…? “I think you could give Les a run for her money as the queen of random trivia.”

  “Naw, it’s too hard to find pumps in my size.” I blushed; realizing he’d caught me automatically glancing at his huge feet when his smirk widen into an annoyingly confident smile.

  “So, what would you like to do now?” I asked a little too brightly. Smooth.

  “Well, since we just ate, I suppose we could give each other mani-pedis and gossip about the cool kids before diving in.”

  “Really? You’re into mani-pedis?” God, could I sound more lame? My flirting sucks.

  He moved behind me, sliding his hands up my arms, squeezing my shoulders. “I’m into all kinds of things, sweetness.” A tiger woman would’ve had with a clever comeback; all I had was a bad case of the nerves and a suddenly dry mouth. “Breathe sweetness, you’re thinking too hard.” His large hands gently, massaged my shoulders with just enough pressure, instead of the bruising force most guys used that had me cringing the moment I was touched. I melted wrapped in his arms, my head falling back. His rough stubble abraded the side of my neck, the barstool swiveling as we rocked. “God, I love when you go all soft.”

  He spun me around, parting my knees with his hips, wrapping my legs around his waist. My hands recorded every bump and dip on their way around his neck. His lips devoured mine, and I clung to him suddenly desperate, wishing I could crawl inside him.

  “Ssshhh, baby.” I froze. “Slow down.” Oh, God, I was mauling him. He nuzzled my neck. “Just breathe.”

  Mom was right. How could I possibly hold onto this man? It would be better to bow out now, gracefully, than watch him grow indifferent or worse, disgusted. I pushed away, trying to scramble out of his grip. “Sorry… I’m sorry.”

  “Uh huh, none of that shit.” He grabbed my wrists, his eyes turning a stormy grey. “Do you know what a turn on it is knowing, I get you this crazy? But I want more than a fast fuck. Now, show me those beautiful brown eyes. When I let go of your hands, you’re not going to move. Got it?”

  I nodded.

  “Good.” Releasing my hands, he stared down with a seductive smile on his face, his eyes heating my skin. “Now, I believe I promised you a lap dance.” He stepped back from between my knees. Curious, I reached for my beer as he fiddled with his IPod—He isn't really going to—I covered my mouth, choking when I heard the start of Jason Derulo’s ‘Talk Dirty to Me.’ Then he grabbed his tee shirt, raising it slowly—Yes, I guess he is—to reveal cut abs, ribs and a broad chest before disappearing over a tattooed shoulder. I wasn’t sure how to respond when he bit his lip with an over the top, come-hither expression on his face. It was either that, or his Dagwood was fighting back. I stifled a discomfited laugh, my cheeks burning.

  “Hey now,” he grinned, “no laughing while I work my magic.”

  Touching himself, he moved to the music. My laughter evaporated and my vision tunneled when he opened his fly one button at a time; revealing the dark trail of hair, framed by a muscular vee, disappearing into his pants. God, could he be any more beautiful?

  His arms caged me in. “Up here, babe.” He smirked, gripping the counter behind me. “How do you want it.” I swallowed, my heart speeding up as his voice coiled around me. “Down and dirty, or sweet and tender?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes? You want me to choose?”

  I nodded, too self-conscious to give voice to my desires, but my eyes must’ve given something away because goofy, playful Mat was gone, and mephistophelean Mat took over. “I want to hear you say it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Oh sweetness.” He gently kissing my hair then rested his forehead against the spot. “The things I’m gonna do to you… Look down.” My eyes opened just in time to see his hand slide into his open fly, and begin moving rhythmically. “You like what you see?” God, I loved his voice.

  I nodded. His hand froze. Words. I had to use words. I licked my lips. “Yeah.”

  “Touch yourself, baby. Get your fingers wet.”

  God, what am I doing? A sudden bout of shyness had me fumbling as I fought with my zipper, the kinked folds creasing my jeans causing it to bind. I had to squirm to fit my hand inside the cramped space.

  “Keep going… Yeah, that’s nice… Let me see.” He pulled my hand from my pants, my fingers shining in the low light. “Give me a taste.” God. Looking into my eyes, he sucked on my fingers, his thick tongue swirling around my digits. Then he grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me deeply, stroking the roof of my mouth with his tongue. His other hand snaked down to my crotch, but it was far too large to fit inside my jeans.

  “Grab on to me sweetness, we’re moving this party.” I clung to him as his rolling gait took us to the bedroom. He set me on my feet, steadying me briefly then stepped back. “Strip.”

  Clumsily, I shimmied out of my jeans, revealing lacy, white panties then pulled off my blouse, exposing the matching balconette bra. I reached back to undo the clasp. “Stop. I want to savor this.” He slid a finger up and down under my bra strap then pressed down on my shoulders. “Down, sweetness; take off my pants.”

  I lowered myself dizzily grasping his hips for balance. His erection sprang free as his pant
s sagged, brushing against my cheek. A fist tangled in my hair, tightening painfully when I reached to caress him. “Don’t.”

  I tugged his pants the rest of the way down, pulling them clear, noticing that even his feet were perfect: Strong, blunt toes and bony ridges, blue veins twining under his skin. I couldn't resist petting them.

  “Look at me angel.” I gazed up; his lean lines and sinew seemed to go on forever. “You’re so beautiful, babe. Put this on me.” After handing me a condom, he watched intently; stroking my hair as I fumbled it out of its foil wrapper and rolled it down his length. “Time to finish getting naked.”

  He moved onto the bed, leaning back against the headboard as I scrambled out of my underwear, and crawled awkwardly between his splayed knees. “Climb aboard, sweetheart.” He handled me as though I weighed nothing, arranging me in his lap, facing away with my groin pressing wetly against the base of his cock. “Lean back baby.” Abs flexed under my ass as I reclined against his chest.

  Sighs caught in the back of my throat as he teased long fingers up and down my body, tickling touches that made my body quiver and arch, my pelvis rising every time they leisurely strolled south to ghost over my thighs to play in my pubic hair, tugging and petting. Eventually my sighs turned to moans. My nails dug into him as I hungered for something more deliberate.

  “Easy, sweetness, there’s no rush.” He soothed. “We have plenty of time to get there.” His lips brushed my cheek. “We have days to get there.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sidewalks and Shotguns

  “Please Mat.”

  “No.” Soon, baby. And once I take the edge off, I’ll show you how much more you’re capable of feeling.

  “I’m dying.” I knew the feeling. I couldn’t drag this out much longer. I ached to be balls deep inside her.

  “Only, la petite mort, and I’m going make you die over and over.”

  “Please…”

  “Not yet.” My hands smoothed over skin like satin—so soft—to her inner thighs, framing her groin. She jerked when I parted her lips. I toyed lazily between them, finding her drenched and swollen with need.

  I should get a fucking Oscar because I was feeling far from lazy. My teeth were clenched so hard my jaw ached, and if my dick got any harder, it just might snap off. “You ready for that ride, sweetness?”

  I pushed her forward, her back curving delicately as she braced her hands on my knees. I guided my crown up and down her length, her ass lifting every time I neared her entrance. “That’s right, baby. Get me nice and wet.” Gripping her hips, I finally guided her down onto me. Fuck me, she felt good. Too good. “Don’t fucking move,” I warned, giving her body time to adjust as my fingers dug into her hips. “I want to remember this sight.” Her ass, spread slightly by the downward rotation of her hips, glowed against my darker skin as her back curved gracefully above it. My hands slid up, thumbs riding the ridges of her spine then back down to grasp her waist. Perfect.

  “Now, sweetness,” I growled, pushing up to get her started, my hands balancing her. Underlying tension in her movements betrayed her; she was thinking too hard. I punched up as I slammed her hips down, driving into her hard enough to force a gasp from her. “Harder. You fuck me right, girl.”

  I ground into her repeatedly, all the while, making dark promises. My balls tightened—God, she had to be getting close. Please baby. Please come—I broke out in a desperate sweat, fighting my own release. “You better come on my cock.” I threatened, “If I come first, I’m gonna tie you down and force you to come until you’re too weak to fucking scream.”

  “Oh… God… ” She groaned, her body clenched, her nails digging into my thighs as she shuddered milking my cock.

  Oh, thank God. I let myself go; slamming into her, chasing my own release after holding it back for so long. A few more thrusts, my arms clamped and I curled around her. “Fuck me… Fuck…” I ground into her, coming so hard I could feel it in my spine.

  Breathing heavily, I tilted us onto our sides, shivering with post orgasmic spasms; waiting for my muscles to unclench. I ran a hand over Angie’s hip, smoothing the red marks my fingers left. Shit, I hoped she doesn’t mind a few bruises.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said when my toes finally uncurled. After finishing in the bathroom, I fetched a couple of bottled waters from the fridge, and smiled. She hadn’t moved.

  “Shit.” She rolled away giving me the stink eye before snatching the chilled bottle I’d touched to her back. “Oh, you think you’re so funny.”

  “Yeah, babe but looks aren’t everything.” She put up a token resistance when I snagged my arm around her then relaxed, snuggling against me, rolling her bottle over my chest—Fuck that’s cold—macho men didn't flinch, not unless they wanted a smack down from their little sisters. And Danny hit fucking hard.

  “Speaking of looks, are you going bald?” Bald? Where’d that come from? “Never mind, that was probably rude; forget I asked.”

  “No, I don’t mind. You think I’m balding because I shave my head?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Funny story, that. Danny tricked me into it the first time. I think my mom may have been in on it as well.”

  “Not Danny, she would never do anything like that.”

  “Yeah, she’s all sweetness and light. Anyway, a while back Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. We were lucky; they caught it early, and treated it aggressively. So, not only was the chemo making her feel like crap, she was afraid of losing her beautiful, long hair. So there we were, sitting around the table getting high. And being an insensitive smart-ass, I teased that she was coming down with mange—”

  Angie gave me a light smack. “That’s an awful thing to say.”

  “Yeah, not my proudest moment, but in my defense, it’s funnier when you’re high.” I grinned down at her. “So, there she was acting all sad, and Danny said she should just shave her head, and get it over with. Well, Mom kind of hemmed and hawed. What if her head’s shaped funny. What if people stared. What if Dad thought she was ugly.”

  “As if your father would care, he adores her.”

  “Yeah, that’s why upon sober reflection, I think she was in on it. Anyway, Danny decided we should shave our heads in a show of support and somehow convinced me that it would be easier for Mom if I went first—funny how reasonable the most twisted logic can sound when you’re high—by the time I started coming down, my head was already half bare. Of course, Danny chickened out, and I later discovered the type of chemo Mom was doing didn’t make your hair fall out. Now you know the reason I no longer get high.”

  “That’s terrible.” She laughed making me doubt her sincerity. “So why didn’t you just grow it back?”

  “Well, once I got over the shock, I sorta liked the way it looked. With hair, I’m just a big dork; shave my head, I’m still a dork, but I look badass.”

  “You couldn’t be dorky if you tried.”

  “Same back at ya babe.”

  “Liar.”

  “Hey now, that’s not very nice. I’m going to have to show you the error of your ways… Right after my nap.”

  It was late; the sun shining through windows was only a memory. I was feeling pleasantly numb as if I’d just finished a long run. Mat surrounded me, large and warm. I snuggled closer, ignoring an annoyingly familiar chime. I could stay like this forever.

  “Babe, I think that’s your phone.” His chest vibrated under my ear as he toyed with my curls, pulling out a coiled lock then releasing it to spring back.

  “Phone?”

  “Yeah baby, time to come back to earth.” He grinned cockily. “You might want to check and make sure it’s nothing important before we get all tied up.” I stumbled in the gloom, his earlier threats clamoring in my mind. The lights switched on, briefly harsh before dimming to a warm glow. I checked the missed call, but I didn't recognize the number. When Mat’s phone started ringing, I began to worry. “Hello… Yeah… Is he all right?… Wait, his daughter’s
right here. Angie, babe… it’s the hospital, your dad’s had an accident.”

  No… no… “Hello?”

  “Angelina Martin?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Dr. Mahajan at Scripps Memorial. I’m afraid your father’s had an accident. He’s suffered a head injury. It doesn’t appear serious, but we’re admitting him for observation and he asked us to call you.”

  “Oh, God, I’ll be right there. Thank you. Thank you for calling.” I scrambled for my clothes, crawling around on all fours searching under the bed—where are my panties? Fuck it. I don't need them—my panties appeared in front of me dangling from Mat’s finger. My feet tangled dangerously in my haste to pull them on, and I would’ve gone tail over teakettle if not for his steadying hand as the other continued holding his phone to his ear.

  “…Yeah, I’ll call you as soon as we know something.” He hung up, tossing the phone on the bed.

  As he pulled on a pair of worn jeans, I couldn't help noting he’d gone commando, and I was momentarily transfixed watching him adjust things, and the way his long fingers trailed up his body after buttoning his fly. Shit, my cheeks grew hot seeing his grin.

  “Will you quit screwing around and get dressed already?” I stomped off in search of my handbag as his laughter following me down the hall. That he was aware how easily he got to me was annoying as hell.

  In less than an hour, the valet had Mat’s keys, and we were at the hospital’s admissions window. “Excuse me.” The nurse glanced up, her eyes widening when she looked behind me. “I received a call saying my father was being admitted.”

  “I need to see an I.D.” Her eyes darted between my face and license then glanced suspiciously over my shoulder one last time before turning to her computer. “Patient’s name?”

  “Isadore Martin”

  After a few mouse clicks and some busy typing, she nodded. “Yes, he’s still in the ER waiting to be admitted. Go through those double doors and down the hall.” I grabbed Mat’s hand, walking quickly to the doors, pausing impatiently for her to buzz us in.