by L. B. Dunbar
“Not a chance, Dorothy,” I say, rubbing my nose against hers. “The Tin Man sticks once his heart begins to beat again.” I kiss her nose and then roll her to her side with her back at my chest. She purrs as she nestles into me, her backside searching for my dick.
“You need to sleep, sweetheart.”
She shakes her head in response, not speaking but continuing to wiggle against me.
“Dolores,” I moan, knowing she needs rest, but suddenly rising to the occasion. Her back arches, her ass making contact. I slip my hands under the T-shirt she wears, using my wrists to lift the material as my palms caress up her spine.
“Feels so good,” she mutters. She props up on one arm, allowing me to remove her shirt, and then collapses back to her side. My hands outline her body. The length of her arm. The curve of her hip. The dip of her waist. I lower behind her, pressing kisses along the curve of her spine. As I disappear under the tent of covers, I remove her underwear, dragging it over her knees to her ankles, where she kicks it off. My hands squeeze the firm globes of her backside, pressing them together and then spreading them wide. Her legs straighten, but I press at the back of her thighs, forcing them to bend and draw upward. With her backside in my face, I lower and lick across the seam of her.
“Garrett,” she moans in warning as my thumb teases her puckered opening while my tongue lashes her sensitive folds. With a thumb testing at one entrance, my tongue slicks the other. She hisses again, remaining twisted on her side, with her knees clenched together, while I devour her in this position. Tongue lapping. Thumb flirting. My mouth salivates, and she whimpers as she nears release. Her legs stretch forward, kicking out from under the covers, to allow me to continue while she remains jackknifed on her side. My tongue delves forward, slicing into her, and she implodes, calling out my name on a strangled whisper. I lick her one final time. Then I suck on the firm skin of one cheek. I nip the other before I climb behind her.
“I’m feeling lazy, sweetheart,” I mutter, keeping to my side, but holding myself positioned at her slick entrance. She opens her legs, but a hand on her thigh hints I want her to keep them closed. She’ll be tight like this, and my dick pulses with anticipation. I clutch myself, dragging the tip along her soaked folds. She wiggles again, curling into herself to give me full access. “Hold on,” I warn, and then I ram forward, the motion nearly blinding me as her tightness squeezes me in a way she hasn’t before. I still, pulling my knees up behind hers. “Damn, you feel so good.”
I pull back, maneuvering her hips to draw me in and then slide back to the edge. My eyes roll back again. It’s slow and torturous and so fucking tight like this. We continue this languid, luscious dance for several minutes, both quiet as I fill her and tease her for a second release. The pressure builds at the base of my spine. My sac tightens, but suddenly, I need to see her face.
I pull out, and she cries, rolling to look at me over her shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” she mutters, her eyes sleepy in the darkness of the room. I press upward and slip over her thigh, rolling her onto her back. I re-enter her before she’s settled, and she huffs with the welcome intrusion. Balancing on my elbows, I peer into her eyes.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I say before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Ask me again if I’ll be happy here,” I say, my voice rough with need, yet I hold back, keeping my eyes on her.
“Will this place be enough for you?” she whispers, her tone hushed and breathy. I slowly press forward.
“This. Right. Here,” I say, pressing a hand to her thigh and then palming up her body, over the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist and resting on the side of her breast. “This is all I’ll ever need.”
I pull back, drawing out the building tension, and then slowly inch forward, filling her. My head lowers to watch myself disappear inside her.
“This is all I need.” Repeating the measured movements, I realize I’m making love to her, giving her all of me, and taking all of her. “I love you, stunner.”
“Love you too, Tin Man,” she says on a sigh, her body following mine in a slow, steady rhythm. Her knee skates up my thigh, resting high at my hip. I wrap a hand over her ankle and press it upward once, twice. She lifts her arms above her head, gripping the wrought iron slats of the headboard. Her head tilts to the side, and I recognize her movement as something we learned in our tango lessons. I release her ankle, but she keeps it tight to my hip, and I relish the position she maintains as I lazily slip in and out of her. The heel of her opposite foot curls over my calf and drags up my inner leg. We continue this dance only as long as we can until she mutters, “Faster.”
Our pattern continues—a drag and a draw—but the tempo picks up until we move as one. It isn’t chaotic and quick like the previous times we’ve engaged in sex. It’s practiced, planned, and predictable, but only because I know her body so well, and she follows my lead, allowing me to give her all the pleasure I can. She slips into a stillness. Her legs stiffening around mine as her head rolls back, and the familiar clench around me sets me off. I come in the depths of her, pressing as far as I can into her and holding her pinned to me by arms wrapped around her lower back. She sighs instead of screams, moaning words of love you and stay forever and just like this.
I collapse on top of her, breathing in her damp skin. Her arms release the bed and curl over my back, tickling her fingers up my spine.
“You are incredible,” she mutters, and I chuckle.
“I’m so glad we finally agree.”
34
Roommates and socks
[Dolores]
I don’t talk much over the next two days. I meet with Griffin Duncan as scheduled, and we discuss the renovations for the diner. Most of the updates currently in progress include items customers won’t see. Electric. Plumbing. Gas lines. The questions remain on the interior of the place.
“What do you want it to look like? We can put everything back as it was with a few newer fixtures. But now would be the time for a change if you want to make it.”
Time for a change. The answers come instantly. I tell Griffin my vision—classic dining car from a train mixed with the tradition of the diner—and he refers me to their interior designer.
“She’s from Atlanta,” Griffin drawls like this makes her sound important, or maybe he’s just mocking her.
I chuckle because I can’t even find the energy to laugh. I find myself slipping as if falling backward in time because I’m overwhelmed with everything. The diner. The house. Denton’s betrayal…and Garrett’s. He says he loves me, but I’m struggling. We didn’t make love last night. He just held me, curled up behind me, nuzzling into my neck. He breathes me in like he’s afraid I’m going to let him go. Let his dream disappear.
Hearts are on the line, I realize. Mine. His. I want to believe in him, but something niggles inside me, questioning if his love isn’t tied up with his vision. His investment.
The next morning, I’m determined to get an honest answer, then I’ll let my apprehension go. I find Garrett at the breakfast table, his laptop and phone on the circular surface along with a notepad. Glasses perch on his nose. He’s wearing jeans with another sweater. The casual look suits him, but I wonder if he misses his fancy suits. I shake the thought. Wearing a T-shirt and undies under my old robe, I know it’s not very seductive, but looking at him in my grandmother’s worn out breakfast room, still the powerhouse man he is, I’m turned on in a way I haven’t been in days.
“Good morning,” he addresses me over the rim of his glasses, but I don’t answer him. I straddle his lap instead. “Dolores?”
The corner of his lip crooks upward as he pushes the chair back from the table, keeping me on his thighs. Gripping the back of the chair, I start to roll my hips at the seam of his jeans. The robe billows around my legs, and I untie it, allowing it to drape open. His hands lower to my hips, slipping under the worn fabric.
“Whatcha doing?” he asks, his voice straining as I continue to rock over him, feelin
g the slow unfurl of his length under his zipper. Any minute, I’m expecting him to tell me to stop. To tell me he’s busy. To tell me he has work to do. “Let’s go upstairs.” His voice is a whisper as he leans up to kiss me, but I pull back. My eyes narrow on his as I use the wood of the chair to balance and continue undulating on his lap. A thrill runs through me as he groans with my refusal to kiss him.
“Here,” I say.
“Someone could walk in,” he mutters, looking over my shoulder. I shake my head, my hips having a will of their own as they increase their dance. My sex moistens, clenching with need.
“I want you buried inside me.”
Garrett swallows, fingers clenching the fabric of my shirt inside the robe. My eyes close, and my head lowers. The build is growing, crawling up my quivering thighs.
“What’s this all about?” he mutters, his head tilting as I continue to ride him.
“Tell me I’m more important.”
His brows lift, and his mouth pops open. His expression says he wants to say something, but he shifts. His eyes darkening. “You’re more important than my work.”
I’m rocking hard, the chair creaking under the weight of us. He shifts so I’m hugging the thick shaft bulging against the zipper of his jeans, and the pressure adds to my excitement. My panties are damp, and the friction settles right where I need.
“Tell me I’m more important than the vineyard.”
“Dolores,” he groans, his hand slipping to the base of my belly.
“Say it,” I whisper, my voice throaty and deep.
“You’re more important than the vineyard.” He slips a finger under the elastic of my panties, then shoves it deep into me. The intrusion sets my legs trembling, and he thrusts his hips under the back of his hand.
“Is this what you need?” His voice has turned stronger, less pleading and more commanding. “Right here, right now, you want me to fuck you to prove myself to you.”
My head falls forward as if I’m nodding, but he isn’t wrong. Placing myself between him and his laptop, I want him to tell me I’m first. Not the vineyard. Not his business. Me.
For once, I want to be first to someone.
“You,” Garrett growls, working his fingers harder, deeper into me. “You are the most important person to me.” His mouth comes to my neck, nipping me as he works his fingers followed by the pump of his hips behind his hand. His thumb brushes my clit, and I explode, tightening my grip on the chair and clenching my hips over his. My head lowers to his forehead, resting against it as I gasp for air.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice catching as tears burn in my eyes.
“I love when you take what you want from me,” he says, pinning me with his stare. His mouth seeks mine, and I return the kiss with equal fervor, drinking in what he says, letting it fill me to the brim with happiness. I pull back slowly, tugging his lower lip with mine before releasing him. Shifting as if to move off him, he grips my hips to hold me a second longer. “You’re my somebody, Dolores. My. Somebody.”
“I love you,” I tell him, and we kiss another moment, pouring into that kiss all the words, the fears, and the hope.
I won’t leave you, I tell him with my lips on his.
I won’t hurt you, he assures me.
We pull back, breathless once again. With a final peck, I slip off his lap and tighten my robe around my waist.
“Let’s find some breakfast,” I suggest. “I’ll take care of that later,” I tease as I point at the hard-on I’ve left him with. Garrett swats my backside as he stands to adjust himself and then follows me into the kitchen where we find Denton perched against the new island awaiting a countertop. His gaze is lowered as his arms cross over his chest, and his fingers draw over his lips.
“Denton,” I say in the way of greeting. He doesn’t look at me. His eyes leap to Garrett’s.
“We need some ground rules,” he states, keeping his focus over my shoulder to Garrett, who wraps an arm around my waist and tugs me back to him like a shield against my brother. “No sex in the common areas.”
Garrett chuckles. “Roommate rules? Leave a sock on the door or something?” My brother shudders, uncrossing his arms and resting his hands on the uncovered top of the cabinets. He turns his head away from us.
“I was in a band for years. Too many close quarters. I’m too old for this shit.” Mati enters the room, glancing among all of us. With clenched teeth, Denton repeats, “No common areas.”
“I see the pot is calling the kettle black,” she teases, walking up to him and slipping her arms around his waist. She tips up on her toes and presses a kiss just under his jaw. It’s sweet, and the first time I’ve seen them truly affectionate with one another. My brother softens under her touch. She turns to face me, keeping her body against his. “It’s only temporary.”
“What is?” I ask, my eyes drifting to Denton. Now what isn’t he telling me?
“We’d like to build a place of our own. On the property, if we can, but away from the main house a bit. We all need some space,” Mati says, shifting her eyes from Garrett and me to Denton.
“When did you decide this?”
“We’ve been discussing it for a bit. Denton wanted to get Magnolia set up first. Fix this place for her. With you home, things are shifting, and rightfully so,” Mati emphasizes, squeezing Denton who remains silent while she speaks. “You’ve always taken care of Magnolia, and we aren’t giving the responsibility back to you. Fixing the house is for both of you…and I guess Garrett now too.” Garrett’s arms tighten around me.
“I want a place that doesn’t hold so many memories. I want new memories,” Denton adds, finally wrapping his arms around Mati to secure her to him. I understand. Mati sold the home she lived in with her husband for twenty-something years. Denton’s only known Magnolia’s as a place of refuge from our father. If he wants to build a new life here, he’s going to need to start with a place of his own.
“Dolores?” Garrett deflects to me, kissing the top of my head. He’s asking me to answer instead of speaking for me, and I appreciate the subtle context of his kiss. He’s right behind me in any decision I make. For us.
“It sounds okay to me.”
“So for the time being, it appears we’re roommates,” Mati confirms. “I didn’t go away to college, so what’s the sock thing?”
“It’s when you hang a sock on the door because you’re having sex in the room and don’t want to be disturbed,” Garrett clarifies.
“Warning your roommate that he might need bleach to clear his eyes of the vision of him doing something with…” Denton’s voice drifts. He still can’t look at me, and it makes me wonder how long he was listening to Garrett, me, and the creaking chair. Did he walk in on us, too? Oh, God.
“Anyway…” Mati draws out, and then we hear the tapping of Magnolia’s cane. Her room is off the kitchen, keeping her safely on one level. Under her arm is a pile of something, cloth-like somethings, in a swirl of black and white. Magnolia dumps the pile on the kitchen floor and turns back for her room.
“Are those…?” I begin.
“Sweet Jesus,” Mati mutters.
“Socks?” Denton croaks, his voice rising on the word, but Garrett laughs—a deep belly laugh. He stands behind me, in that way he has, surrounding me with his presence. His head lowers to mine, rolling against it as he continues to chuckle, and everything clicks into place. With Garrett at my back and the sound of his laughter—his happiness—in my ear, I know everything is all going to be okay.
I was his somebody, and he was mine.
Epilogue
[Dolores]
We don’t make the Christmas deadline I set for the diner. Many of the items we ordered were difficult to receive during the holiday season, like a new grill, which is kind of important for a diner. But before the year ends, and with a little team effort from some generous townsfolk, the diner gets a new life in time for the next year to begin. Deep maroon cushions make the booths comfy and intimate with a woo
d-grain table centering each space. A few four-tops have matching square tables with black wrought iron chairs for easy cleaning.
By day, it still feels like the diner, with breakfast and lunch menus, new and improved with some suggestions by Hollilyn Abernathy, soon-to-be Rathstone. Our chicken salad and egg salad remain the specialty, but we’ve done an overhaul on the dinner offerings. Dimming the lights and obtaining a liquor license for the future wine we intend to serve will make the space more romantic, more subdued, and everything I dreamed it could be. We’ve even recruited Apple Jane, Cora Conrad’s daughter, for making us some specialty desserts from her genius with apples.
The biggest change will be the name. With a new theme, the diner needed a fresh title: Wine&Dine. I’m not trying to make the place into something it isn’t. This place, however, is a new entity, and with a new year coming, it’s going to be a great beginning.
Then there’s Garrett. He’s no longer the Tin Man to my lost Dorothy, but a true Wizard, making dreams a reality. Not with his money, which he certainly did contribute to making the diner shiny, but with his support and reassurance. I can do anything, he tells me, and he’s got my back each step of the way.
“It really is everything,” I say, glancing around the finished room. We open the day after New Year’s. I take in the new coffee urn, silver and sparkling. The shiny stainless-steel top under the warming lights, which are dim and the only illumination in the space. The long low-top counter for single patrons with stationary stools. The deep booths.
“You’re everything,” he tells me, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. He kisses my shoulder, and I lean back against him.
“It’s so beautiful. I can’t stop staring, though I can’t focus on any one thing.”
He spins me in his arms and cups my cheeks before briefly kissing me. “You’re beautiful.” Pulling away, he reaches for the remote on the table near us. He presses the black device, and the room swells with music—rich and sultry and very feminine.