Out of the Blue: Reed Security: Book Two

by Robin Leaf

  I need some distance. Distance will get me perspective.

  I stand so fast, I have to catch the chair before it shoots across his kitchen.

  Smiling to keep him from realizing I’m freaking out, I blurt, “I think I need a shower. You think it’s okay to get this tattoo wet?” I ask, trying to walk nonchalantly out of the room.

  His hand snares my wrist. “You may, as long as you don’t submerge it for long periods or scrub it.” Gently, he pulls my arm so that I look at him. Reluctantly, I turn my eyes toward his. “You’re not okay. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I say, a little too quickly. “I’m just tired. I think a shower will do me some good.”

  He continues to study me, and I can tell he doesn’t quite buy my half-truth.

  “Yep, a shower,” I add. “A little time alone with some music ought to do the trick to make me right as rain.” I bite my lips together so I don’t blurt out everything.

  His eyes narrow, but he lets me go. “Okay. Take all the time you need.” He stands, grabbing all our dishes and turns to kiss my temple. “I’ll work on finishing my book.”

  Swoon.

  I find I love my temple kissed, and he, apparently, loves to do it. It’s the fifth time today and the seventh time since Wednesday. That one little repeated gesture makes it really fucking hard to continue to want the distance I felt I needed just seconds ago. In fact, he awakened the pulsating vagina again. Damn him.

  Once I make it to the bedroom, I ignore the fact that the entire area smells heavenly, just like him, and find some clean underwear, PJs, and my bag of toiletries to carry to the bathroom. I also grab my Bluetooth speaker so I can hear the music over the shower.

  I pull up Kaelyn’s latest playlist. I bet the one thing to cure my raging libido will be a set of songs chosen by the only girl Douglass has ever loved. Without even looking at the list, I hit shuffle and adjust the volume on the speaker to a level I can hear just over the water before I step into the steaming shower.

  Wow, Kaelyn’s going old school today with Salt ‘n Peppa’s “Push It.” Her playlists are usually pretty random, often showcasing new artists, and she usually includes some obscure Prince song. Occasionally, her playlists have a theme, especially when she’s traveling.

  Damn, I know a lot more about this woman’s musical habits than is necessary.

  Whatever. I enjoy a good eighties jam as much as the next guy. It seems to be doing the job of distracting me from my woes, washing my body and shaving my bits and pieces to the beat of the song.

  Next up is a song I’ve never heard. It has a strong, Latin-influenced beat, and a male singer croons some pretty sultry lyrics. The chorus hits, with the man declaring, “Tonight, I’m fucking you.”

  Yeah, that’s not helping.

  I have no choice but to ride it out since I can’t skip the song with the shampoo I just poured in my hands. I end up scrubbing my hair probably a little too hard to the beat. I’ll admit it is catchy. By the time I’m rinsing, a rapper takes over. Is that Ludacris? I think it is.

  I about collapse in gratitude when the song ends and dump copious amounts of conditioner in my hand, when I recognize “I Want Your Sex” by George Michael.

  Something tells me Kaelyn has an objective tonight.

  After applying the conditioner, I rinse my hands and reach through the curtain for my towel, drying my fingers off quickly, so I can skip the song, only to hear the first few beats to “Closer,” by Nine Inch Nails.

  God, KaeKae, you’re killin’ me.

  Another skip leads to “Erotic City,” which is her chosen Prince song for the day. Luckily, it’s not too much of an over-the-top sex song for my tastes, so I let it play. I rinse my hair thoroughly and stand for a minute, allowing the water to cascade over me.

  I turn off the water as the song changes one more time. Drying off to “Hot in Herre,” by Nelly, I just roll my eyes. After the first chorus, I hit stop, picking up my phone to read Kae’s reasoning for her selected songs.

  Her post says: Saturday night’s theme: can’t wait until tomorrow. Been apart too long. What songs should I add?

  Yep, I was right. She wants to “hit that,” but her horniness didn’t help me one bit. Now I’m all wonky in the head from my own conflicted feelings of horniness and the little bit of discomfort I feel from knowing what she’s planning to do with her boyfriend.

  And I get the added bonus that Douglass probably heard every one of those songs, most likely thinking I chose them all.

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

  I pull out my comb and rake it through my wet hair before angrily grabbing my hair dryer to plug it in. Aiming it at the mirror first, I turn it toward my head, angrily flipping my hand through it to hurry the drying process, my mind racing.

  I mean, yeah, I want him, but I don’t want him to think I’m some horny girl trying to send not-so-subliminal messages through my chosen shower music. That’s apparently Kaelyn’s thing. It’s not the message I want to send, so I’ll just explain where the playlist originated… shit. Can’t do that. Duh. What would I say? Hey, Dugger, it wasn’t my song choices. I was listening to the ‘we’re-gonna-fuck’ playlist that the girl you wasted eight years pining for made for her and the guy you think she chose over you.

  Lovely. Looks like I’ll be sleeping in the shower stall. No way I can face him now.

  My hair is probably dry enough, but I keep going, risking the heat damage I’m inflicting on it to avoid the inevitable.

  But what if he likes my apparent come-on? What if he wants me just as much as I want him? Gah. I’m gonna drive myself crazy, and I’m gonna burn off all my hair if I keep torching it with this hot-ass dryer. I turn it off, fingering through my hair one last time.

  Do I really want to see what’s waiting for me on the other side of that door? What do I want to do? Should I just say, “Fuck it,” and walk out there with nothing but a smile and hope for the best? Or do I don my chosen unsexy ensemble and make it seem like I’m not expecting anything to happen tonight?

  Grabbing my grandma underwear, I opt for door number two. Whatever happens from here, I won’t be the one to initiate it, but I’ll be damn sure to give the green light if it does.

  Looks like I’ll be pulling a Doris Day on this one. Que será, será, motha fucka.

  Before I pull my shirt over my head, I notice the forgotten black ink under my left breast. I never did check it out, so lifting my arm, I see the infinity symbol with a red heart. I find I like it way more than I thought I would. In fact, my body warms, like all over, at both the memory of how it got there and the sentiment I think the tat holds. Pulling my shirt down, I take a deep breath, staring at my reflection.

  And just like that, I’m ready.

  All previous bets are off. I’m DTF, as they say. Yup. Down to fuck. Ready to ride that bologna pony. Oh, that’s a good one. I pick up my phone and add, “Slow Ride,” by Foghat to Kaelyn’s comments before opening the door, emblazoned with a new confidence. That fucker’s going down… on me.

  The overhead light is off, but the soft lighting coming from the bedside table lets me know that he’s in here. I lean seductively on the door frame, turning toward the bed.

  He’s sitting up, covers up to his waist. He’s shirtless, an open book lying face down on his chest. His glasses are on, but glasses do him no good when is eyes are closed.

  Dammit.

  I walk over to him, studying his features. His nose is slightly crooked, probably from a break in his youth. The olive tint to his skin makes me think he might have Greek or Italian blood in him; it mixes nicely with his obvious Scandinavian bone structure. His dark blonde hair contrasts with his darker beard, which has unusual undertones of red and gold streaking through it. Those long eyelashes, which naturally line and draw more attention to his beautiful eyes, cast shadows on his high cheekbones.

  Honestly, every part of him is beautiful, but when he sleeps, the usual bad-boy quasi-scowl, which is bullshit advertising, is absent
, leaving the lost-boy innocence I’ve had the pleasure of witnessing first hand.

  Holy shit. I witnessed it first. Hand.

  God, I’m an idiot. Why haven’t I seen it before this moment? Doug is guarded, just like the tattoo on his arm, one of a heart wrapped in skin of barbed wire and floating in a blue fog. I knew it the first time I met him with his reluctance to admit what his friend got right about him. Thursday, it continued when he didn’t want to tell me about Mabel’s son. But last night, he let me past the barrier for a glimpse into the real Douglass Van Cleef. He told me things, highly personal things, things probably very few people, if any at all, know. I need to recognize what a big deal that was for him.

  He trusts me. A lot.

  And, if I really want to push this issue, I can say this tattoo he chose to put on me is a way of telling me that he has given me a metaphorical piece of his heart. I mean, at least that’s what I think it means. Maybe.

  Hopefully.

  Even if it doesn’t, I’m in.

  All in.

  I remove his glasses slowly and fold them on his side table. I carefully lift the book, keeping his place with his bookmark. Oh my God, he’s reading the Justine LeBouxxx series Beckie from work tried to get me to start last year, which I started it the night before everything blew up in my marriage. All I remember was the book started out with a detailed orgy. To know Doug reads kinky shit like this? Not helping.

  I reach up to turn off the lamp, but stop, trying to decide what to do. I am tired, but should I sleep in his bed again? Yeah, I just had an epiphany about his apparent feelings for me, but that doesn’t mean I should invade the man’s personal space without an invitation. Last night was a first for him, sleeping in bed with a woman, so maybe I need to let him get his rest without me messing that up.

  I decide to leave the lamp on. Pulling his covers up his chest, I turn to leave.

  “Please don’t go,” he says gruffly, his voice all gravelly from sleep.

  I turn to see his eyes are still closed.

  “You need a good night’s sleep,” I tell him, flipping the switch on his lamp, leaving the room in darkness.

  His arms snare me around my waist, easily pulling me over him to the opposite side of the bed, wrapping himself behind me.

  Placing his hand under my shirt on my stomach, he whispers, “You have too many clothes on.”

  I lay my hand over his and try lifting it. “Let me up.”

  He rolls to his back, and I sit up, taking my shirt over my head before I lie back down.

  “Pants, too,” he says without moving.

  I hesitate for a nanosecond before removing my pants, but I decide to leave on the underwear. If he wants them off, he’ll have to do it himself.

  Once I settle back into position, he scoops me around the waist and pulls me to him, nuzzling in to my neck. Curious, I move my hand across my hip, feeling nothing covering his thigh.

  “Relax. I have on boxers.” He kisses my shoulder. “Sleep, Blue. We have a busy day tomorrow.”

  The small, comforting circles his thumb traces on my stomach help me to relax. I feel his thumb slow as his body leans more into mine and his breathing becomes a bit heavier. The safety of two-hundred and twenty-ish pounds of man wrapped around me, hugging me to him like I’m his human teddy bear, is yet another swoon-worthy moment, causing me to sigh contentedly. I give in and sink into him, drifting off with a clear mind and a full heart.

  Twenty Two

  Dugger

  “Dugger,” I hear, pulling me from the deep and blissful sleep, the best I’ve had in a long time. I don’t want to awaken just yet.

  I feel a hand dragging down my chest, over my nipple ring to my stomach, stopping just short of the tip of my morning wood threatening to poke out of my boxers.

  Her mouth is on my neck, nipping at my skin. I wrap my arm around her tighter.

  “Mornin’, Blue,” I say roughly, kissing her forehead.

  She throws her leg over my waist and pushes me on my back, rolling her small body on top of me. After a few settling movements, her underwear-covered center is on my boxer-covered cock. I grab her hips and gently thrust upward, causing her to moan softly against my neck.

  “What time is it?”

  She pushes against my chest to sit up. “Does it matter?” she groans, grinding down on me. Holy fuck, she’s so wet, she’s soaked through both her underwear and my boxers.

  “Blue,” I croak out. “We’re due at your mom’s.”

  “Yeah, huh,” she growls, flicking my nipple ring and rocking back and forth.

  Jesus, she’s making it hard to focus.

  “Ember.”

  She puts her finger over my mouth, dragging her pussy up the length of my cock.

  “Damn, Dugger, you feel good.”

  Holy shit, no way am I stopping her now. My hands grip her hips tighter, urging her to go faster.

  “I really want to feel you inside me.”

  God, much more dirty talk from her, and I’ll rip through all the layers between us and grant her wish.

  “When I felt how hard you were against my ass, I instantly wanted you.” She leans down to whisper, “But honestly, I always want you.” Sitting back up, she speeds up her movements. “But I know you need to wait.”

  Wait. Yes, I want to wait. God, why was that again?

  “I’m going to respect that. But that doesn’t mean I can’t help you get off.”

  She leans forward, placing her hands on my shoulders for leverage, and really starts to move, grinding down on my cock on her forward thrust.

  My hands slide up to her breasts, grasping her nipples with my thumb and forefinger. Her head falls back, and she lets out a moan so primal, I feel the tingling begin.

  “Ember, I want to come on these,” I say, pinching her nipples.

  She immediately rolls off me, and I sit up on my knees, reaching in my boxers for my cock. Her eyes widen, and her hand slides in her panties, rubbing furiously. Three tugs is all it takes before I feel my balls tighten. Holy shit, I’m gonna explode.

  My hand moves faster, the tip of my cock rubbing against her nipple. She cries out, arching her back right before I release, shooting several streams across both breasts. I keep at it, threatening to collapse over her, but I place my right hand on the wall above her head. Taking a minute to allow both of us to catch our breath, I stare at her face. She looks relaxed and blissed out, even better than she did after the orgasm I gave her yesterday. I lift her against my chest, trapping the mess I made on her between us, and slide off the bed to carry her to the bathroom.

  “That was amazing, Blue.”

  She smiles. “Yeah, it was. I feel like we should high five or something.”

  I laugh, setting her down on the counter. “Maybe that’s something we should save until after we actually have sex.”

  She taps her chin. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Something else to look forward to.”

  I nod my head toward the shower. “Would you like to get in with me?”

  Looking the direction I nodded, she sighs. “I’d love to,” she whines, grabbing the towel on the counter from her shower last night, “but I shouldn’t. There is no way I could see all of you naked right now, not if you expect me to live up to the ‘I’ll wait’ promise I made just four minutes ago.”

  I take the towel from her hands and gently wipe off her breasts. Her eyebrows shoot up on her forehead, surprised by I don’t know what, and her face transforms into awe. I really fucking like her looking at me that way.

  Shaking her head, she says, “Plus, I need to get ready, and even if I could resist my vaginal urges and just shower with you, I won’t have enough time to get myself Mom-approved.” She grabs the end of the towel and wipes one spot I missed. “I can’t go to brunch looking like I encouraged a man to come on my tits this morning.” She kisses my cheek before glancing in the mirror. “Oh, jeez, I have a lot of work to do.” Sliding off the counter, she begins furiously gathering all the stuff sh
e needs. “See you in a few.”

  She’s gone before I can say anything in response.

  I climb in the shower and perform my rituals, some that will have to change if she does start showering with me.

  Damn. I’m on my way to realizing my dream, so close I can taste it… or, more accurately, taste her. I just want someone to be with me, to live with me, to eat with me. To sleep with me and to shower with me. To love me and to be proud of me.

  And I think Ember is just the girl to fill the position.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Wow.” It’s all I can say to Ember once I find her in my spare bathroom leaning over the counter to apply some dark-pink-colored lipstick.

  She’s gorgeous, but so… different. Her hair is slicked back into a perfect bun. The makeup she applied is more than I’ve ever seen her wear, but it’s obvious she worked hard to make it look like she’s not wearing much. She’s starched and pressed in her short khaki pants and her tailored, pale-pink, button-down shirt, like she’s going to some trendy café to meet with Karen, the judgy, busybody PTA president, and not like she’s on her way to her parents’ house for a simple family meal.

  Don’t get me wrong, I love the way she looks, but it’s so not her.

  And I feel a little underdressed in my rumpled blue long-sleeve button-down with my sleeves rolled up and my nice jeans.

  “You look beautiful,” I say when I find my voice, “but should I change?”

  Her eyes meet mine in the mirror and widen, and she turns to face me. She mashes her lips together the way girls do when they apply lipstick, and her eyes drag up and down my body.

  “You look edible,” she breathes out. “God, you’re sporting the rolled sleeves to show off your forearm porn.” She reaches for my arm, rolling down my sleeves. “Maybe you should keep them covered so you don’t make me attack you in the middle of lunch.” She furiously tries to button the cuffs. “Damn, these might just give my mother a heart attack.”

  Forearm porn? That’s a new one.

  She reaches for my other arm. “Seriously, Douglass, why don’t you just put on those grey sweatpants and kill us all outright? Have all the ovaries explode from your sexual trickery?”