by Lana Brazen
Back to Thursdays, I want to snark, but I don’t. My heart falls a little when it shouldn’t. Does he have office visits that day and then do house calls in the evening? What man has the virility to sex up and satisfy several women in a day? Then I remember what he said—by request or when the urge hits.
“I suppose Thursday works.” I drag out the reply, flipping through my desk pad calendar. My evenings are always free, but two can play this game. As a handyman, he works for me, but it appears he’s back to calling the shots and controlling our schedule.
Silence falls between us as I stare at the blocks for the days of the week, pausing in hopes of making him sweat a bit.
“Lana,” he murmurs, and I chuckle.
“Thursday evening is fine.” For some reason, I look over my shoulder again.
“Where are you?” he asks, surprising me with the question. We haven’t shared much about ourselves, although he knows the facts from my initial visit.
“At work.”
“I mean, where exactly?”
My brows pinch. “At my desk.”
“Do you sit at a cubicle or in an open office?”
“A cubicle,” I state, looking at the walled space around me that comes to my chest when I stand. It’s a dull gray color, and I try to spend more time outside the office than in.
“Are you in need of some repairs in the office? At your desk, perhaps. Maybe under it. Is there a leak under your desk, Lana?”
Oh. My. God.
“No,” I choke, laughter clogging my throat.
“Are you sure? Maybe you should check.” He pauses, a sigh filling the line. “Are you wet?”
I am now. “No,” I whisper, looking over my shoulder again. My thighs rub together, the skin tingling under my skirt.
“Maybe I should come assess the situation? I could crawl under the desk, wedge my face between your thighs, and my tongue could—”
“Alright,” I bark, a little louder than necessary. I cross my legs, my knee banging the underside of the desk. My center pulses, matching the rapid pace of my heart.
“Just want to make sure you’re thinking of me…and Thursday.”
For some reason, I smile. The more playful side of him is fun, but this is dangerous. I’m at work. I’m wet and turned on, and Thursday is three days away.
“Slip your hand under your skirt. Assess the situation for me.”
“No,” I hiss, my head twisting over my shoulder one more time.
“But you’re so wet. You want to touch.”
His breath hitches, and I wonder if he’s touching himself.
“Where are you?” I ask, still breathing heavily.
“In the office.”
“Suite 3B?” I ask, hating that I’ve asked and losing my steam.
“I couldn’t come here without you.” The comment surprises me.
“But you’re there now.”
“Thinking of you. Thinking of my face between your thighs and my tongue buried in your pussy.” His voice strains, the way it does right before he…
“Are you…?” I can’t ask out loud. Someone might overhear me. Pushing back from my desk, I stand on shaky legs, making my way toward the restroom. Still holding the phone at my ear, I hear James breathing through the line. I look left and right as I walk, wondering if I’m controlling my speed as much as I’m trying or if I’m failing miserably.
I nod in the direction of Xavier across the office. My eyes meet Annette’s briefly.
“What else were you thinking?” I say, a little too loudly as if the phone call is normal—a client, a prospect, a potential deal.
“I’m thinking about how easily I slide into you. How willingly you take me. How you clench my cock when you come.”
Sweet Jesus. I barely make it into the private bathroom, slamming the door and flicking the lock. Struggling with my skirt, I lift the material until I can get two fingers inside my underwear.
“James,” I hiss.
“I want to come down your throat.” He’s so dirty and off-kilter from his normal reserve. Even this phone call is more than the home visit handyman.
“I’m alone now,” I whisper, still trying to control my voice as the rest of my body sings.
“Picture me under you.” My eyes close and, oh God, the vision. His face. His tongue deep within me. My sex dripping over his lips. His nose at my clit. His fingers near my ass. I bite my tongue and come in record time, collapsing against the sink.
“Oh God,” I purr, and the air catches on the other side of the line. My vision blurs, and I grip the sink, aware I need to wash my hand. A grunt groans through the phone. “Are you okay?”
The whole exchange is strange. He’s never spoken to me like this, never been so carefree, nor has he ever called me.
“I just…I’ll see you Thursday at seven.”
When the connection ends, I feel a mixture of emotions, when emotions shouldn’t be a thing.
+ + +
James arrives as he promised, tool belt on his hips. “I’m here for the pool,” he announces, and I freeze.
“What?” he asks, staring back at me as we stand just inside my front door.
“My ex-husband is a pool man.”
His shoulders fall. “Not much fantasy there, then.” He pauses, waiting on something, and again, he seems off-kilter.
“I don’t think I can muster excitement with the pool as the setting.” There’s an apology in my voice and disappointment. I don’t want him to leave, but as he’s the lead, his plan seems to be broken.
“Maybe you could just stay. Have a swim.” I thumb over my shoulder. “We can just see what happens.”
Obviously, my seduction skills are lacking, but it’s been a long three days, and I don’t want him to go. Plus, he seems out of sorts, and I’d like to know what’s going on with him. I’d like to know more about him. Does he need something I can provide? Does he want something I can’t offer?
“I don’t have a suit,” he says.
“How did you plan to examine my pool then?” I tease.
The question breaks the tension a bit, and he laughs, crossing his arms casually. “Point made.”
Then he bends to unlace his boots. When he stands, he removes the tool belt. Toeing off the construction wear at his feet, he waves a hand toward the back of my house.
“Tonight, it’s your lead,” he says.
I direct him to the pool, which is blocked off from the neighbors on either side by a large privacy fence, open to the waterway at the back, and blocked from the street by the house. I excuse myself to change into a bathing suit.
I return to find James has entered the water, keeping the pool lights off. I stare down at him. His hair wet and finger-combed. His face dripping. Above the waterline, his shoulders glisten with droplets. He’s a merman vision, and his siren calls to me.
“Come in,” he says, and I take the steps to lower into the water. I don’t own a bikini, so I’m not wearing one. The tankini will have to do, but I’m more self-conscious in it than all the times I’ve been naked and bare before him. Perhaps it’s the way he’s watching me, his eyes focused as I enter the pool. He doesn’t normally look at me as he is.
As I’m not as tall as he is, the water comes higher on my body, hitting just above my breasts. James lowers and swims to me, keeping most of himself underwater. His arms lazily drift, making subtle waves.
“Want to talk about the other day?” I wonder. What had gotten into him?
“Did you not like it?” he questions, opening his mouth to cup water and immediately spraying it back out. He looks like a water nymph.
“I did, but it seemed so unlike you.”
“And what do I seem like?”
“Reserved.” It’s the first word to come to mind. His brow tweaks either in disbelief or wanting more. “Distant.”
“Cold,” he adds. While it was next in line, it’s surprising to hear him use the term for himself. “I’ve been told I am.”
“I woul
dn’t say that.” I hesitate. “Just professional. Confident. And—”
“Cold,” he adds again.
I laugh. “Okay, fine.” He smiles weakly back at me.
“Do you miss the office?” I ask because I wonder if he prefers the control of the medical room. My house certainly isn’t so serene or sterile, and although he played handyman on Sunday, I don’t think this is his normal routine.
“I like the structure, yes, but I don’t always need it.” His eyes lower, and his lips twist.
“Is it strange outside the doctor-patient role?” I ask, feeling a little awkward myself. What role are we playing right now?
“Yes and no.” His eyes focus on mine, intense and piercing. The blue sharp in the dimming evening light.
“Does there always need to be a role?”
“I don’t know,” he questions. His brows pinch as he turns his face away from me.
“Do we need Andrew?”
His head turns back. “I don’t know, do we?” There’s an edge to the question. One I don’t understand.
I shake my head in response. “No.” I only want you, but I don’t tell him this. He said no relationships, yet I wonder what he’s doing in my pool. His arms continue to spread and retract in the water, a mini-tidal wave of aggression building.
“I want to know why you called. Why you acted as you did? I’m not complaining, just trying to understand what happened.”
“I lost a patient.” There’s pain in his voice, and his eyes lower, watching his fingers float under the water. “I feel out of control when that happens.”
When the urge strikes…His doctor role-play keeps him in control, even of his sexual experiences.
“Want to talk about it?”
He shakes his head. “Not really.”
I sigh, realizing there will be no personal level with him.
“What were you going to do tonight?” I ask. Maybe making him talk through his plan will bring us to rights.
“Tell me about your ex.” The command surprises me.
“Stan?”
James peers at me.
“He is a pool man, like I told you. Cleaning pools and maintaining them. It’s lucrative in Florida.”
“Adventurous?” he questions, arching a brow. He knows I’ve never dabbled before because I admitted as much in my first consultation with him.
What’s he really asking?
“No, we didn’t fuck in the pool.” I’m surprised by my own boldness, but this is what he wants to know. Have we done it here? “This house is mine. An investment from my parents after the divorce. Stan hasn’t been in my backyard.”
His brow lifts again, an innuendo I didn’t intend to make. His lips twist in a knowing grin. “Not even to clean?”
I shake my head, returning to the facts. “I let the association handle the pool.”
James stands to his full height, towering over me a little bit. “Then the plan is to break in the backyard.”
“What did you have in mind?” I inquire, a flirt in my voice, and his eyes shift. I know that look when I shouldn’t recognize it. He’s about to go into play mode.
“Let’s talk about this area.” His hands come to my shoulders, and just when I think he’s going to lean forward and finally kiss me, he presses me back, so I rest against the edge of the pool. He tugs down the material of my suit top, exposing one full breast and sucking at the heaviness. I arch despite the scrape of the pool edge at my back. James sucks, and he tugs, his palm more eager to squeeze me, his tongue uncontrolled over my nipple.
“The neighbors,” I whisper, wondering if they can see us from the second story next door. My yard is dark, but the night isn’t black yet.
“Do you want them to watch?” he mutters, tugging down the other side, trussing up both breasts before laving at the second one.
“I’m not an exhibitionist,” I moan as his mouth works the nipple. My hands have been gripping the edge of the pool, my arms longing to wrap around him but letting him lead. I don’t touch him intimately when we are together, and somehow curling him into me seems inappropriate.
He pulls back to stare at my exposed breasts, just above the waterline. The nipples are erect, and water cascades down the slope. He takes a deep inhale and lowers himself below the water, removing my bottoms. He breaks the surface and tosses the smaller material to the deck. Stepping up to me, he places a hand near mine and lowers his other for the apex of my legs. Two fingers enter me, and I hiss.
“Let’s move to the stairs.” His fingers retract, and he follows me to the steps. “Sit on the top one.” I do as he says, trying to ignore the fine grit of the concrete pressing into my backside.
“Open your legs.” He nods, hinting I need to spread wider. My knees separate, and then the sensation hits. The lap of the water caresses my clit. He gently pushes water at me, making it rock up and back. It feels…nice. Different.
“Touch yourself,” he whispers, his voice straining. I can’t look at him, so I turn away but slip my hand lower, two fingers pressing together before reaching my clit and rubbing. He continues the water lapping as I circle, the excitement enhancing, the build coming as slowly as the waves licking up my pussy.
Oh. My. God.
My eyes close as I give in to the sensation, falling apart with the attention of the water.
“Climb to the deck,” he demands, his voice cracking, and I hastily move. “Spread.”
I do, and he leans forward, his mouth continuing what the water began. His tongue is warm and fierce, spearing me like the gentle water couldn’t. The dichotomy isn’t lost on me. Soft and hard. Slow and fast. His tongue spreads me, delves into me. His fingers curl into the flesh of my upper thighs, and I rock against his mouth. My knees lift of their own volition, my feet landing on the deck, and I’m spread for him in an overly exposed manner. His hands slip under my knees, forcing me to lean back on my hands. He devours me on the edge of the pool until I come again, a rush washing over me.
“Andrew was right. You’re like candy.” James stares at my folds, my core still pulsing from what he’s done. His fingers swipe through me, and he watches the path he draws.
“I want all of you,” he whispers, and the question in his statement isn’t missed. His head shoots up, and he nods to the chair closest to the house. It’s a lounger with a cushion on it. “Let’s move over there.”
He’s naked as the day, and as I near the chaise, he stops me at my shoulders, tugging up my swim top. I’m as free as him. A finger strokes down my back, which faces him, continuing to trail down my body and between the crease of my backside. He stops as he nears my hole, the tip of his finger pausing.
“Tonight,” he says at my ear. Then he pulls back his hand and guides me to lower to my belly on the chaise. Immediately, I notice a tube of lube on the table next to the chair. I crawl up on all fours, and James stops me with a hand on one cool globe.
“I like how you anticipate my direction.” I pause without a word, without certainty I can really give this to him. Can I? Am I ready? But he seems so lost, hopeless, quiet this evening. I lower to my elbows, my ass raised by my knees. The cap pops, and the lube hits my seam. He massages and manipulates my cheeks, working the cream before a finger enters me, and I still.
“When you clench like that, and I’m in inside you with my cock, it’s the most intense sensation,” he explains, the distant doctor voice in his words. His finger probes deeper, and then a second joins the first, stretching me. I whimper, uncertain, but he takes his time. His other hand slips up my inner thigh, and a finger finds my clit, then enters my swollen folds while the two in my backside slip forward and back. It’s strange and intriguing and mesmerizing. My body works in tandem to reject and receive.
Then he removes his finger from my channel, and the unmistakable head of his cock replaces his thick fingers at my rear. The swell is more than his two fingers and I still as he fills me with his slow, measured entrance.
“James,” I hiss.
“You can do this. We’ll go at your speed.” His fingers work at my massaging my ass as his dick slides deeper.
“You have no idea how tight you are like this.” He pulls back and then leans his body forward as he presses inward again.
“Imagine Andrew here,” he murmurs, returning a finger to my clit. “Maybe under you, fucking his face.”
Sweet mother. “I…”
“His tongue laps at you as I take you like this.” He’s lost in his own words, driving into me with controlled speed. “Or perhaps, he fills you as I do in that sweet pussy.” My forehead lowers for the cushion, and the shift in angle catches James's breath. He’s moving with rhythm, a dance of sultry hips, forcing him deeper and deeper but not faster.
“You’re going to make me come.” He pulls out and quickly flips me, shoving my legs apart as he removes the condom I didn’t hear him put on. He rubs his thick, hard length along the crease of my sensitive folds and then holds himself just above my pelvis, his balls kissing my clit as he comes on my belly. Dipping his fingers into his work, he swipes the creamy substance and shoves two fingers back into me, diving deep, moving fast, hammering hard until I come a third time.
I bite my tongue, holding back the scream as he collapses next to me, shifting us to lie on our sides. He sweeps an arm over my back and presses my head into his chest near his heart. In the first display of tenderness, he spreads his fingers over a shoulder blade to hold me in place against him.
“Thank you,” he mutters, lingering lips at my temple, and I smile at the break in his façade.
7
When the following Monday arrives, and a new week begins, my thoughts are scattered. I had a listing to show and an offer on a house I’d been working on for the last week, but I keep asking people to repeat things and need to re-read new specs. If Dr. Lubton asked for lingering side effects, I’d list a lack of concentration with an overactive imagination and a throbbing libido.
After Thursday evening, he told me he’d call me, but he hasn’t. We have no doctor visit scheduled, no handyman guarantee, nothing on a calendar to state we’ll see each other again. With a man like him, once every ten days will not be enough. Like a drug, I need him more often.