Junk Love, page 27
About to turn off her phone, the heading below distracted her:
The God-Given Task
What gain has the worker from his toil? I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live; also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil—this is God’s gift to man.
Well, thanks.
“More ‘research’?” He stood beside her, grinning.
Air quotes and everything. Punk. “Mind your own business.” Smirking, she put down her phone and searched for the TV remote beneath the feline overflow.
“Never tried an alphabetical reading plan,” he said, then nodded at the TV. “MSLSD?”
“What?” She pointed the remote like a magic wand and turned it off.
“Your news. Food’s getting cold.” He scooped his arms under the mass of fluff and relocated Girlfriend.
Holly pressed her palms on her toasty lap. “She’s better than an electric blanket.”
Jacob gave her a hand up and a peck. He started to lead them to the kitchen but kissed her again instead.
“Didn’t think that would take so long. The deep fryer Dad wants was on sale. Checkout line took forever.”
She loved that Jacob let her hug him as long as she wanted. “It’s okay,” she said with her cheek on his chest. “I still love you. Even if you did vote for Trump.”
They hadn’t used the “L word” yet. Crap. Clamp went her mouth and then her eyes.
Once she released her squint of regret, she caught a flash of his smile.
“Sorry,” she laughed, pulling away. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah.” He hauled her back. “You love me.”
Channeling her embarrassment into the most portentous scowl she could muster, she said, “I mean, your questionable political beliefs haven’t made me hate you.”
“Aww. Your questionable political beliefs haven’t made me hate you, too.” He joined his hands in a heart shape and placed them on his chest.
“Brat.”
Chuckling, he clasped her hips at close-talking distance. His eyes got sweet and earnest as if he might profess his love because she’d accidentally started it.
“Don’t you dare!” Her fiery eyes locked with his. “Look,” she said, retrieving her phone from the sofa. “Here’s something else I love.” She held up the screen like a mirror; she was Perseus, and he was Medusa. “Look at this face! She’s a German Shepherd mix.”
After he took the phone, she put her hands on her hips.
“The shelter isn’t sure who the dad is, might be an American Bulldog. Look at her little Flying Nun ears! The mom and siblings are spoken for. She’s the runt. She’s why I bought a house with a fenced yard. She’s the one.”
“The one, huh?” His face flickered with some private thought as he handed her phone back. “If you love her, you should bring her home. Make her part of your family. Food’s getting cold.”
“Really?” Holly wanted to ask how Girlfriend got along with dogs, but that felt presumptuous.
She followed him into the kitchen and boosted herself onto the countertop, which was speckled like Keith’s except the base was brighter and the spots were more substantial. As transparent plastic warped beneath Jacob’s fingers, the container made low, bubbling clicks.
“Make her feel at home.” He opened the second one. “You’re invited to Thanksgiving dinner at my folks’ house,” he said, hovering his hand over the shrimp in black bean sauce.
“I’d love that. My mom asked if we wanted to have Thanksgiving with her, but it’s a long drive.”
“We could do that.”
No.
He stuck his finger in the beef and broccoli. “Maybe we should nuke these. How starving are you? The shrimp will hold up better if we heat it on the stove.”
“That’s fine. What can I do?”
He fed her a piece. “If you want to put some plates and forks out…”
“Mm.” The garlicky meat sent happy signals through her body and cooled her jets a bit. She dismounted and went to the silverware drawer.
Pans clanged as he set two on the range.
C’mon brain. Forks. A road trip with Jacob would be fun, but…her mom. Knives. Holly placed napkins and utensils in the breakfast nook. With the three craftsman windows surrounding the table, it was almost out in nature, like a masculine version of her dining room. The gas stove click-click-click-woofed on and he turned on a second burner, centering the pans over the flames.
Back on the countertop, she faced her fear. “Please don’t think less of me. I’m afraid to have you meet her.”
“Your mom?”
She nodded.
“We’ll do Thanksgiving wherever you want.” He left his post to rub her thighs. “You’re not your mom. And you’re not a poison dart frog.”
Glancing at the pans, she asked, “Do you want me to stir that, so it doesn’t burn?”
“On it.” He returned to the range.
“Either way, I’d like to give your folks a pie for Thanksgiving.” Holly hopped down and took two square plates from the cupboard.
“As long as you’re not stress baking.” He dumped the shrimp dish into the second pan. “Last time Mark may have gotten food poisoning.”
“You said it was good!” When she only got a wink, she said, “You’re feisty tonight,” and rubbed his hulky back while the green florets and beef slices swirled in the shallow pan. The savory aroma was almost as tempting as he was.
“Just happy to have my girl with me. What about two Thanksgivings? There’s the weekend. Vegas could be fun.” His lips opened, then sealed over something with a smile.
“I’ll think about it.” She hugged his back.
“When do you want to pick up your little ankle-biter?”
Seriously? “The shelter’s open tomorrow…”
“Stay here tonight. We can go in the morning.”
Holly’s heart hiccupped.
“I’ll be a gentleman.”
“I don’t have a change of clothes. Or a toothbrush.”
“I’ve got toothbrushes.”
“From your string of broken hearts, no doubt.”
“New ones.”
“I forgot you’re a Boy Scout.”
“‘Be polite, be professional, have a plan to kill everyone you meet.’”
“The Scouts have gotten dark.”
He winked. Then he smooched her.
Half an hour later, Holly cracked open a fortune cookie, raining dust on her mostly empty plate. She read the tiny strip: “‘You have a secret admirer.’” Waving it, she smirked from the memory of Jacob asking for her number. “Bit late, isn’t it?”
“Show some respect. These things transcend space and time.” In the high-backed bench seat across from her, Jacob studied his slip with red lottery numbers on the back. “The first cookie was poisoned.” Then, grinning, he read, “‘Something wonderful is about to be happy.’”
“In”—Holly regretted the words as they came—“bed.” She shook her head. “Doesn’t work there.”
“‘You have a secret admirer in bed.’” He popped a hunk of cookie in his mouth. “That could work.”
Standing with her plate, she reached for his. “Movie time?”
They were on the sofa two hours later. Holly lay with her head in Jacob’s lap while he massaged her IT band, his long arm effortlessly spanning the distance from her hip to her knee. It was almost as nice as the ass rub had been.
Katharine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart were paddling down the Nile, singing like drunk sailors. She wished an alligator would pop up and eat them, and not only because Humphrey Bogart was an unbelievable romantic lead with anyone but Lauren Bacall. Didn’t they know they were in dangerous territory?
“Hey.” Jacob smoothed her tight forehead. “You know this isn’t Mission Impossible, right?”
“Tom Cruise wouldn’t appreciate that.”
“You staying over. We can do it. Not do it. I have a plan.”
She stroked his stubbly jaw. “Of course you do.”
* * *
In bed, waiting for Jacob to brush his teeth, Holly pulled the navy comforter over her t-shirt and leggings and nuzzled into the smell of him on the pillow.
“Light off?” He stood in the doorway in white striped pajama pants with no shirt.
Payback’s a bitch. “Sure.”
His gaze flicked to her bra on the bedside table before he clicked off the light and turned into a silhouette. A bluish glow filtered through the curtain as he climbed in and slid his arm toward her. She nestled her shoulder into his armpit and rested her head on his firm bare chest.
Breathing him in directly was hugely different from inhaling what had lingered on his bedding, different as pizza out of the oven and the ghost of a scent from its cardboard box. This she could eat. She rolled into him and kissed his chest, which made her mouth tingle like she’d used musky mint lip balm. Holly planted her lips there again, longer, then licked them. Holy hell. He was luscious.
“You seem tense.” She sprang to her knees and straddled him.
“What are you doing?”
“Shoulder rub.” Her hands moved down to his pecs.
Jacob chuckled. “Dietitians don’t take Anatomy?”
“Chest rub, then. It isn’t ‘undercover activity.’” She smiled, relishing the power and the view, stroking his ridiculous arms.
“Uh-huh.” His raised eyebrow dropped as his eyes closed.
She was glad he was enjoying it—though not too much since she couldn’t feel a thing under her hips.
“Sorry,” he frowned. “This is really uncomfortable.”
Holly sat up while he adjusted what she assumed was a wedgie.
“Okay,” he said.
Her hands went back to his chest, and her hips onto his. Touching down, she twitched into frozen stillness. He was enjoying it—a lot.
He reached for her as she was bending down to kiss him. Sparks seemed to fly from two sources—his hypnotic lips and breath and tongue around hers and the irresistible length of him tickling her lower abs, promising something impossibly better. It was really hard to pull her mouth from his. She positioned her hips over the base of him and slid glacially forward. His. Heat. Was. Beautiful. Holding at the top, she fluttered like a pinned bird, wanting to never ever move while also wanting to, badly.
Jacob clasped her arms. “Don’t move.” He lowered her, flattening her chest onto his.
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to move.”
He sighed a chuckle into her hair.
Like an addict, she was twitching and trembling and mouth hungry. She tugged up her shirt and eased backward, skimming her nipples over his slick, sparking, barely prickly chest.
But he pulled her up. “Holly.” His arms were a very nice vice.
If she couldn’t move, at least her breasts were splatted against his come-hither pecs.
“Hold still ‘til I can get up,” he said, planting his hands on her back. “Please.”
“That’s the problem. You could put an eye out with that thing.” She rode his laugh like a surfer paddling over waves.
She was drifting off when Jacob patted her back again.
“Be right back.”
Once she moved off him, he went to his dresser, slipped on a shirt, and climbed back under the cozy comforter.
“Turn around. I’ll spoon you.”
Smiling obedience, she flipped over, and his chest met her back. His breath on her neck gave her a thrill, so she scooched her hips back. But his retreated. Even though it wasn’t really a rejection, she felt sort of pouty before his hand slid down her leg to her bare foot.
She twitched. “What are you doing?”
“Checking for running shoes.”
“What? Goof,” she laughed. “Darn, I was hoping for a foot rub.”
“We can do that.” Jacob kissed her temple, and then sat cross-legged, placing her foot in his lap.
“Ew.” She tugged it away. “You don’t have to do that.”
He repossessed it. “Woman, let me rub your feet.”
“Please stop if they’re nasty.” She rolled onto her back and melted, letting her eyes close. “Mmm. Thank you.” Trying hard to relax, she reined in her thoughts about how amazing his hands would be other places.
“I love you” came out of the dark.
Holly’s eyes shot open, and she shot up. “Please don’t say that because of my slip earlier,” she said, knee-walking toward him, sort of terrified.
Jacob pulled her close, so she wrapped her legs around him and sat between his crossed legs.
“It’s true.” His basketball hands held her hips.
She couldn’t see his face as well as she needed to. In his hands and off-balance, she couldn’t think straight. He wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it, but… His kiss, consuming and long and deliberate, should have cured her terror, but it made it worse.
“I vaulted it,” he said, “so you wouldn’t freak out and go full Gingerbread Man on me.”
“Really?”
While she settled for another kiss as an answer, her mouth apologized to his tongue for wanting any other body part. Her ass succumbed to gravity, and central heat shot up through her PJs and leggings. Her breath caught. Then she cradled his head in her hand, wrapped her other arm above his shoulders, and nestled her lips on his neck.
“I love you, too.” Holly flickered like the center of a flame. The terror wasn’t gone, but she didn’t feel alone in it. Somehow it was more real than anything she’d known, like true happiness should scare the ever-loving shit out of you. She never wanted to let go of him. Not even to have sex. This was what she needed: tight, hot holding. She was loved and home and the best, unsafest kind of safe.
After sitting for a small eternity in kinetic stillness, he chuckled. “My legs are officially asleep.”
“Sorry!”
“Don’t be. It’s a good idea, sleep. Let’s get some.” They resumed spooning, closer this time.
While she breathed through the temptation of him, he wrapped his arm around her and rubbed her belly.
After a minute, she had to ask. “Did you and April wait?”
“No,” he said, squeezing her. “This is better. Never thought I’d win the Woman Lotto, but here I am. Gorgeous girlfriend with an iron will.”
“Iron will, my ass.”
“Clang!” He grabbed it.
“You know I’d totally do you.”
“Not tonight.” His enormous hand smoothed her hair. “Get some sleep. Gonna have your hands full of puppy in the morning.”
Holly
Friday, November 25, 2016
“Everything was delicious, Mom. Thank you.”
From Holly’s seat across the modern black dining table, Nanette’s coiffed blonde head was showcased against the massive painting behind her of flowering multicolored bushes surrounding a garden path. The round bushes weren’t the problem. Her mother’s free-range breasts, though, perky beneath her translucent white cold-shoulder dress… Those were horrifying.
“Not bad for two-day-old catering.” Nanette smiled through still-perfect lipstick.
“Some flavors improve with time.” The round frames of Charles’s glasses complimented his bowtie and spiky gray hair.
Even sitting directly across from her mother through dinner, Jacob had been oblivious to the excessive show of mammary force. After Holly clasped his warm hand on her thigh, she got up.
“Finished?” She took his plate, still not knowing what to make of them. Each Fornasetti porcelain dish featured a big black-and-white ass. If her mom was trying to look worldly and daring, fine, but it was more like she was mooning them.
“I’ll help.” Jacob pushed out his chair.
“I’ve got it.”
Nanette clipped to the end of the table, hovering her breasts near Charles’s face. “Pie now? Or later?”
Charles wiggled his eyebrows, sliding his hand over her hip. “A little later?”
Holly widened her eyes at Jacob, who was managing a straight face, before she clomped to the open kitchen in her strappy black heels.
The modern white kitchen had almost enough lumens to burn away unwanted mental images, but not quite. Recessed lights in a rectangular hollow of the slick wall on her left shined on the gas range and a bowl of purple pomegranates. She paused at the sink, hidden in the countertop.
Nanette’s heels clicked around the marble slab island. “Shame the sweet potato crostini got eaten up.” Setting two stacked ass plates between the sink and a black platter of chrysanthemums, she said, “Those were divine!”
“Do you have a garbage disposal?”
“Do I have a garbage disposal.” Smirking, she shook her head. “Leave those.”
“That crostini could be great for my diabetic clients,” Holly said. “I should find a recipe.”
“I don’t know, they’re very rich with the blue cheese.” She about-faced and cat-walked to the table, stopping beside Jacob, who stayed facing Charles.
Charles was telling the ice fishing story. Nanette sailed around the chunky black table, sheer billowy material trailing behind while she gathered first Holly’s wine glass, then her own, and ran her fingers over Charles’s shoulders.
Returning, she extended her Greek goddess arm. “Let’s give the boys a minute to chat.”
Holly accepted her glass. “The salads held up well. This Sauvignon Blanc is amazing.”
“I had them keep the dressings on the side.” Tipping back, Nanette drained her glass, then tapped it with a pointed, glossy beige nail. Tink tink. “New Zealand. They have a low-cal Sauvignon Blanc, too. In fact…” She glided past the white monolith partition into the kitchen’s secret workspace, bright and compartmentalized like a luxury Ikea showroom. “Want me to open it?”
The God-Given Task
What gain has the worker from his toil? I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live; also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil—this is God’s gift to man.
Well, thanks.
“More ‘research’?” He stood beside her, grinning.
Air quotes and everything. Punk. “Mind your own business.” Smirking, she put down her phone and searched for the TV remote beneath the feline overflow.
“Never tried an alphabetical reading plan,” he said, then nodded at the TV. “MSLSD?”
“What?” She pointed the remote like a magic wand and turned it off.
“Your news. Food’s getting cold.” He scooped his arms under the mass of fluff and relocated Girlfriend.
Holly pressed her palms on her toasty lap. “She’s better than an electric blanket.”
Jacob gave her a hand up and a peck. He started to lead them to the kitchen but kissed her again instead.
“Didn’t think that would take so long. The deep fryer Dad wants was on sale. Checkout line took forever.”
She loved that Jacob let her hug him as long as she wanted. “It’s okay,” she said with her cheek on his chest. “I still love you. Even if you did vote for Trump.”
They hadn’t used the “L word” yet. Crap. Clamp went her mouth and then her eyes.
Once she released her squint of regret, she caught a flash of his smile.
“Sorry,” she laughed, pulling away. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah.” He hauled her back. “You love me.”
Channeling her embarrassment into the most portentous scowl she could muster, she said, “I mean, your questionable political beliefs haven’t made me hate you.”
“Aww. Your questionable political beliefs haven’t made me hate you, too.” He joined his hands in a heart shape and placed them on his chest.
“Brat.”
Chuckling, he clasped her hips at close-talking distance. His eyes got sweet and earnest as if he might profess his love because she’d accidentally started it.
“Don’t you dare!” Her fiery eyes locked with his. “Look,” she said, retrieving her phone from the sofa. “Here’s something else I love.” She held up the screen like a mirror; she was Perseus, and he was Medusa. “Look at this face! She’s a German Shepherd mix.”
After he took the phone, she put her hands on her hips.
“The shelter isn’t sure who the dad is, might be an American Bulldog. Look at her little Flying Nun ears! The mom and siblings are spoken for. She’s the runt. She’s why I bought a house with a fenced yard. She’s the one.”
“The one, huh?” His face flickered with some private thought as he handed her phone back. “If you love her, you should bring her home. Make her part of your family. Food’s getting cold.”
“Really?” Holly wanted to ask how Girlfriend got along with dogs, but that felt presumptuous.
She followed him into the kitchen and boosted herself onto the countertop, which was speckled like Keith’s except the base was brighter and the spots were more substantial. As transparent plastic warped beneath Jacob’s fingers, the container made low, bubbling clicks.
“Make her feel at home.” He opened the second one. “You’re invited to Thanksgiving dinner at my folks’ house,” he said, hovering his hand over the shrimp in black bean sauce.
“I’d love that. My mom asked if we wanted to have Thanksgiving with her, but it’s a long drive.”
“We could do that.”
No.
He stuck his finger in the beef and broccoli. “Maybe we should nuke these. How starving are you? The shrimp will hold up better if we heat it on the stove.”
“That’s fine. What can I do?”
He fed her a piece. “If you want to put some plates and forks out…”
“Mm.” The garlicky meat sent happy signals through her body and cooled her jets a bit. She dismounted and went to the silverware drawer.
Pans clanged as he set two on the range.
C’mon brain. Forks. A road trip with Jacob would be fun, but…her mom. Knives. Holly placed napkins and utensils in the breakfast nook. With the three craftsman windows surrounding the table, it was almost out in nature, like a masculine version of her dining room. The gas stove click-click-click-woofed on and he turned on a second burner, centering the pans over the flames.
Back on the countertop, she faced her fear. “Please don’t think less of me. I’m afraid to have you meet her.”
“Your mom?”
She nodded.
“We’ll do Thanksgiving wherever you want.” He left his post to rub her thighs. “You’re not your mom. And you’re not a poison dart frog.”
Glancing at the pans, she asked, “Do you want me to stir that, so it doesn’t burn?”
“On it.” He returned to the range.
“Either way, I’d like to give your folks a pie for Thanksgiving.” Holly hopped down and took two square plates from the cupboard.
“As long as you’re not stress baking.” He dumped the shrimp dish into the second pan. “Last time Mark may have gotten food poisoning.”
“You said it was good!” When she only got a wink, she said, “You’re feisty tonight,” and rubbed his hulky back while the green florets and beef slices swirled in the shallow pan. The savory aroma was almost as tempting as he was.
“Just happy to have my girl with me. What about two Thanksgivings? There’s the weekend. Vegas could be fun.” His lips opened, then sealed over something with a smile.
“I’ll think about it.” She hugged his back.
“When do you want to pick up your little ankle-biter?”
Seriously? “The shelter’s open tomorrow…”
“Stay here tonight. We can go in the morning.”
Holly’s heart hiccupped.
“I’ll be a gentleman.”
“I don’t have a change of clothes. Or a toothbrush.”
“I’ve got toothbrushes.”
“From your string of broken hearts, no doubt.”
“New ones.”
“I forgot you’re a Boy Scout.”
“‘Be polite, be professional, have a plan to kill everyone you meet.’”
“The Scouts have gotten dark.”
He winked. Then he smooched her.
Half an hour later, Holly cracked open a fortune cookie, raining dust on her mostly empty plate. She read the tiny strip: “‘You have a secret admirer.’” Waving it, she smirked from the memory of Jacob asking for her number. “Bit late, isn’t it?”
“Show some respect. These things transcend space and time.” In the high-backed bench seat across from her, Jacob studied his slip with red lottery numbers on the back. “The first cookie was poisoned.” Then, grinning, he read, “‘Something wonderful is about to be happy.’”
“In”—Holly regretted the words as they came—“bed.” She shook her head. “Doesn’t work there.”
“‘You have a secret admirer in bed.’” He popped a hunk of cookie in his mouth. “That could work.”
Standing with her plate, she reached for his. “Movie time?”
They were on the sofa two hours later. Holly lay with her head in Jacob’s lap while he massaged her IT band, his long arm effortlessly spanning the distance from her hip to her knee. It was almost as nice as the ass rub had been.
Katharine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart were paddling down the Nile, singing like drunk sailors. She wished an alligator would pop up and eat them, and not only because Humphrey Bogart was an unbelievable romantic lead with anyone but Lauren Bacall. Didn’t they know they were in dangerous territory?
“Hey.” Jacob smoothed her tight forehead. “You know this isn’t Mission Impossible, right?”
“Tom Cruise wouldn’t appreciate that.”
“You staying over. We can do it. Not do it. I have a plan.”
She stroked his stubbly jaw. “Of course you do.”
* * *
In bed, waiting for Jacob to brush his teeth, Holly pulled the navy comforter over her t-shirt and leggings and nuzzled into the smell of him on the pillow.
“Light off?” He stood in the doorway in white striped pajama pants with no shirt.
Payback’s a bitch. “Sure.”
His gaze flicked to her bra on the bedside table before he clicked off the light and turned into a silhouette. A bluish glow filtered through the curtain as he climbed in and slid his arm toward her. She nestled her shoulder into his armpit and rested her head on his firm bare chest.
Breathing him in directly was hugely different from inhaling what had lingered on his bedding, different as pizza out of the oven and the ghost of a scent from its cardboard box. This she could eat. She rolled into him and kissed his chest, which made her mouth tingle like she’d used musky mint lip balm. Holly planted her lips there again, longer, then licked them. Holy hell. He was luscious.
“You seem tense.” She sprang to her knees and straddled him.
“What are you doing?”
“Shoulder rub.” Her hands moved down to his pecs.
Jacob chuckled. “Dietitians don’t take Anatomy?”
“Chest rub, then. It isn’t ‘undercover activity.’” She smiled, relishing the power and the view, stroking his ridiculous arms.
“Uh-huh.” His raised eyebrow dropped as his eyes closed.
She was glad he was enjoying it—though not too much since she couldn’t feel a thing under her hips.
“Sorry,” he frowned. “This is really uncomfortable.”
Holly sat up while he adjusted what she assumed was a wedgie.
“Okay,” he said.
Her hands went back to his chest, and her hips onto his. Touching down, she twitched into frozen stillness. He was enjoying it—a lot.
He reached for her as she was bending down to kiss him. Sparks seemed to fly from two sources—his hypnotic lips and breath and tongue around hers and the irresistible length of him tickling her lower abs, promising something impossibly better. It was really hard to pull her mouth from his. She positioned her hips over the base of him and slid glacially forward. His. Heat. Was. Beautiful. Holding at the top, she fluttered like a pinned bird, wanting to never ever move while also wanting to, badly.
Jacob clasped her arms. “Don’t move.” He lowered her, flattening her chest onto his.
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to move.”
He sighed a chuckle into her hair.
Like an addict, she was twitching and trembling and mouth hungry. She tugged up her shirt and eased backward, skimming her nipples over his slick, sparking, barely prickly chest.
But he pulled her up. “Holly.” His arms were a very nice vice.
If she couldn’t move, at least her breasts were splatted against his come-hither pecs.
“Hold still ‘til I can get up,” he said, planting his hands on her back. “Please.”
“That’s the problem. You could put an eye out with that thing.” She rode his laugh like a surfer paddling over waves.
She was drifting off when Jacob patted her back again.
“Be right back.”
Once she moved off him, he went to his dresser, slipped on a shirt, and climbed back under the cozy comforter.
“Turn around. I’ll spoon you.”
Smiling obedience, she flipped over, and his chest met her back. His breath on her neck gave her a thrill, so she scooched her hips back. But his retreated. Even though it wasn’t really a rejection, she felt sort of pouty before his hand slid down her leg to her bare foot.
She twitched. “What are you doing?”
“Checking for running shoes.”
“What? Goof,” she laughed. “Darn, I was hoping for a foot rub.”
“We can do that.” Jacob kissed her temple, and then sat cross-legged, placing her foot in his lap.
“Ew.” She tugged it away. “You don’t have to do that.”
He repossessed it. “Woman, let me rub your feet.”
“Please stop if they’re nasty.” She rolled onto her back and melted, letting her eyes close. “Mmm. Thank you.” Trying hard to relax, she reined in her thoughts about how amazing his hands would be other places.
“I love you” came out of the dark.
Holly’s eyes shot open, and she shot up. “Please don’t say that because of my slip earlier,” she said, knee-walking toward him, sort of terrified.
Jacob pulled her close, so she wrapped her legs around him and sat between his crossed legs.
“It’s true.” His basketball hands held her hips.
She couldn’t see his face as well as she needed to. In his hands and off-balance, she couldn’t think straight. He wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it, but… His kiss, consuming and long and deliberate, should have cured her terror, but it made it worse.
“I vaulted it,” he said, “so you wouldn’t freak out and go full Gingerbread Man on me.”
“Really?”
While she settled for another kiss as an answer, her mouth apologized to his tongue for wanting any other body part. Her ass succumbed to gravity, and central heat shot up through her PJs and leggings. Her breath caught. Then she cradled his head in her hand, wrapped her other arm above his shoulders, and nestled her lips on his neck.
“I love you, too.” Holly flickered like the center of a flame. The terror wasn’t gone, but she didn’t feel alone in it. Somehow it was more real than anything she’d known, like true happiness should scare the ever-loving shit out of you. She never wanted to let go of him. Not even to have sex. This was what she needed: tight, hot holding. She was loved and home and the best, unsafest kind of safe.
After sitting for a small eternity in kinetic stillness, he chuckled. “My legs are officially asleep.”
“Sorry!”
“Don’t be. It’s a good idea, sleep. Let’s get some.” They resumed spooning, closer this time.
While she breathed through the temptation of him, he wrapped his arm around her and rubbed her belly.
After a minute, she had to ask. “Did you and April wait?”
“No,” he said, squeezing her. “This is better. Never thought I’d win the Woman Lotto, but here I am. Gorgeous girlfriend with an iron will.”
“Iron will, my ass.”
“Clang!” He grabbed it.
“You know I’d totally do you.”
“Not tonight.” His enormous hand smoothed her hair. “Get some sleep. Gonna have your hands full of puppy in the morning.”
Holly
Friday, November 25, 2016
“Everything was delicious, Mom. Thank you.”
From Holly’s seat across the modern black dining table, Nanette’s coiffed blonde head was showcased against the massive painting behind her of flowering multicolored bushes surrounding a garden path. The round bushes weren’t the problem. Her mother’s free-range breasts, though, perky beneath her translucent white cold-shoulder dress… Those were horrifying.
“Not bad for two-day-old catering.” Nanette smiled through still-perfect lipstick.
“Some flavors improve with time.” The round frames of Charles’s glasses complimented his bowtie and spiky gray hair.
Even sitting directly across from her mother through dinner, Jacob had been oblivious to the excessive show of mammary force. After Holly clasped his warm hand on her thigh, she got up.
“Finished?” She took his plate, still not knowing what to make of them. Each Fornasetti porcelain dish featured a big black-and-white ass. If her mom was trying to look worldly and daring, fine, but it was more like she was mooning them.
“I’ll help.” Jacob pushed out his chair.
“I’ve got it.”
Nanette clipped to the end of the table, hovering her breasts near Charles’s face. “Pie now? Or later?”
Charles wiggled his eyebrows, sliding his hand over her hip. “A little later?”
Holly widened her eyes at Jacob, who was managing a straight face, before she clomped to the open kitchen in her strappy black heels.
The modern white kitchen had almost enough lumens to burn away unwanted mental images, but not quite. Recessed lights in a rectangular hollow of the slick wall on her left shined on the gas range and a bowl of purple pomegranates. She paused at the sink, hidden in the countertop.
Nanette’s heels clicked around the marble slab island. “Shame the sweet potato crostini got eaten up.” Setting two stacked ass plates between the sink and a black platter of chrysanthemums, she said, “Those were divine!”
“Do you have a garbage disposal?”
“Do I have a garbage disposal.” Smirking, she shook her head. “Leave those.”
“That crostini could be great for my diabetic clients,” Holly said. “I should find a recipe.”
“I don’t know, they’re very rich with the blue cheese.” She about-faced and cat-walked to the table, stopping beside Jacob, who stayed facing Charles.
Charles was telling the ice fishing story. Nanette sailed around the chunky black table, sheer billowy material trailing behind while she gathered first Holly’s wine glass, then her own, and ran her fingers over Charles’s shoulders.
Returning, she extended her Greek goddess arm. “Let’s give the boys a minute to chat.”
Holly accepted her glass. “The salads held up well. This Sauvignon Blanc is amazing.”
“I had them keep the dressings on the side.” Tipping back, Nanette drained her glass, then tapped it with a pointed, glossy beige nail. Tink tink. “New Zealand. They have a low-cal Sauvignon Blanc, too. In fact…” She glided past the white monolith partition into the kitchen’s secret workspace, bright and compartmentalized like a luxury Ikea showroom. “Want me to open it?”
