Destiny and the Devil, page 3
Chapter 5
My handsome stranger and I barely manage to get into the closet and shut the door before the person enters. There is a small gap in the closet door that we can peek through, and we both see that it is only the janitor. There was probably no need for us to hide in the closet, but now that I am only dressed in my bra and panties, it feels a bit silly for us to step out.
Meanwhile, the janitor has begun to dance to the R&B music while he vacuums up the office.
I can feel my date’s body gently rumbling with laughter behind me. His hands wrap around my stomach, holding me against him firmly. It feels a bit naughty and high school to be hiding in the closet like this, and I can’t help grinning, too. There’s a little thrill of danger, the excitement of possibly being caught.
When I feel his lips against my neck, and his hands sliding up to massage my breasts, I moan softly.
“Is this okay?” he whispers against my ear.
I nod.
Quickly and expertly unclasping my bra, he slides it off my shoulders and lets it hang on the doorknob of the closet. He then takes both of my breasts into his hands and begins to knead them gently, slowly, and thoroughly.
Oh. God.
I let my head fall back against him as the pleasure courses through my body. He takes his time. He massages every inch of my breasts, in a slow and tantalizing way. Then he lets his thumbs roll over my nipples, which are erect and sensitive due to my arousal and the cool air. I gasp, feeling the heat and wetness grow between my thighs. He toys with them until my knees feel weak, and I am completely putty in his hands. I almost think that I might be able to orgasm from this.
Then, when I think I might not be able to take anymore, his hand slides down over my stomach, and cups the mound of my sex, over my panties.
He kisses my neck again, and whispers again in my ear. “Do you want me to keep going?”
I nod again. “Please,” I whisper. I have completely forgotten that there’s another person on the other side of that door, and I don’t care. The vacuum cleaner and music are blasting, and I’m sure he can’t hear anything. I just feel dizzy and blinded with pleasure.
My mysterious stranger keeps one of his hands on my breast, but slides the other into my panties. He pushes the folds of my skin apart, and tests my wetness.
“Fuck,” he whispers gruffly against my ear, when he sees how turned on I am.
“I want you,” I murmur to him softly, grinding my butt back against him. Even as I say it, I wonder what’s come over me. I can’t believe the words leaving my mouth. It’s not like me at all to be so open and trusting of a stranger I’ve only just met. And there wasn’t really enough booze in my chocolate milk to get me drunk—just barely a nice buzz that’s only just starting to creep in.
Actually, I think it’s just all him. He’s just so handsome, sweet, and adorable that it feels really easy to be like this with him. He seems like someone I’ve known for years, somehow. And the feeling of him pressed so closely to me, and his masculine scent invading my senses—it makes me lose my mind a little bit. Oh, it’s just heavenly. I am drunk on him. He makes me forget about everything.
“Not yet,” he whispers to me, as he uses one finger to draw slow circles around my clit, spreading my wetness around tortuously. The sensation makes my whole body tremble with pleasure, which I’m sure he can feel. He then slides his hand lower, and inserts one finger into my wetness, gently pulsing in and out of me.
I turn my head to the side and press my face against his shoulder, as my breath starts to come in short, shallow gasps. I can’t think as I press my body against his hand, seeking more. One of his hands continues to knead my breast while the other fingers me, and soon I’m just a mess, writhing and moaning against his shoulder. He takes one of his knees and uses it to push my legs apart slightly, to get better access. I can feel his erection pressed up against my ass as he pleasures me, so I know that he is enjoying this too.
He inserts a second finger into me, and pulses a bit more roughly, and I moan, panting, and enjoying the sensation, but wishing it was him filling me up instead.
The vacuum cleaner stops abruptly. The man takes a hand off my breast, and clamps it over my mouth to muffle my moans. He then slides his fingers out of me, pulling a string of my hot wetness out, and spreading it around my most sensitive nub. He uses the same two fingers to gently stroke back and forth across my clitoris, rubbing and rubbing until the pleasure builds in me, and I forget where I am.
I arch my back against him, and moan into his hand, which he holds tightly over my lips.
“Come for me, June,” he whispers gruffly into my ear, before gently biting my earlobe. Oh, even that tiny sensation of his teeth against my skin drives me wild. I let my head roll back against his shoulder, turning to press my face against his, feeling his lips against my temple, and the shallowness of his hot breath against my cheek. His hand moves faster against my clit, sending shockwaves through me which build and build until my whole body is trembling with pleasure.
When my orgasm hits, it explodes, and the sensations tear through me like a riptide. I am so weak and shuddering against him, that I would surely fall if he wasn’t holding me tightly. And I would surely scream if his hand wasn’t clamped around my mouth—which somehow feels intensely erotic as well. I am so glad for the darkness of the closet hiding my facial expressions, because I’m sure that my eyes rolled back into my head and I must have looked possessed.
He holds me tightly against him as I come down from the high, and he removes his hand from my mouth, allowing me to catch my breath. He kisses the side of my head as I gasp for oxygen madly, like I have never breathed before. I don’t know why I suddenly need air so badly. I guess with all the muscles in my body clenching tightly like that… orgasms must require a lot of oxygen.
I don’t really know. I haven’t had enough to tell. I certainly haven’t any like this.
I’m not sure how long I stand here, catching my breath and panting in his arms. But at some point, he reaches out and grasps the door handle, allowing the closet door to open. The janitor must have gone. I didn’t even notice. I was in another world entirely. He seems to understand how I feel without me needing to communicate, because he picks me up and carries me over to the couch, laying me down gently. He reaches for my sweater, and arranges it around my naked chest, and then finds a folded blanket. He lays beside me and pulls me close, before pulling the blanket over both of us.
“What about you?” I ask, as I blissfully cuddle up against his chest, feeling cocooned and peaceful, and perfect.
“Just get some rest, sweetheart,” he says gently.
And somehow, I’ve never felt so cared for.
Chapter 6
When a beeping alarm wakes me, I open my eyes in total shock, and cannot remember where I am. I try to move, but find there are iron bars around me. Then I remember that they are only a man’s arms.
“Oh my god,” I say in dismay. “I forgot about the chemo!”
He stirs then, and clears his throat, reaching for his phone. “It’s okay. You’ve got fifteen minutes until her session ends. I set an alarm.”
“Oh—you did?” I say with surprise. I feel like I’ve been sleeping all day, but it must have been no more than a small nap. Maybe less than half an hour. Why does it feel like the best sleep I’ve ever gotten? “Thank you.”
“You’re lucky you have a good excuse to leave me,” he says with a smile. “The next time you wake up in my arms, I’m not letting you rush off so easily.”
“The next time?” I ask with a puzzled smile. “That’s a bit presumptuous. I don’t even know your name.”
“You will,” he says, kissing my nose. “Now get your cute butt up and get dressed.” He abruptly stands up, pulling the blankets off me and making me squeal with dismay with the cold air hits me.
When I reach for my bra, a flush of hot embarrassment hits my cheeks. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you saw my underwear.”
“I saw a lot more than just your underwear,” he says with a chuckle.
I am surprised to find my clothes neatly folded in a pile near the couch. When did he get a chance to do that? There’s even a packet of baby wipes to help me freshen up. I’m sure my makeup is smeared all over my face horribly, and I’m quite messy in other locations, too.
He’s thought of everything.
I dig into my big comfy sweater for my phone, and see that I do, in fact, have a few minutes to get ready before picking my mom up. So, I get dressed and freshen up as best as I can, while the man stands over by the window, texting someone on his phone. Last of all, I place my Cheetos in my pocket. Something to look forward to later.
“Okay,” I say awkwardly. “I guess... I’m going to go now.”
He turns back to look at me. “Wait a minute—I still feel awful. I would have really liked to take you on a proper date. This is not like me, at all.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “It was lovely, really. The nicest, unexpected, random, crazy date in the middle of the day at a hospital.”
“Will you let me take you on a real date someday?” he asks.
“Well, yes,” I say softly. “Of course.”
“Good,” he says, walking over to me. “Now sit down.”
A bit puzzled, I follow his instruction. I am startled to find him pulling a brush through my hair, and then using his fingers to create a part down the middle. He then expertly braids my hair, and fastens it back up into two buns, exactly as it was before. I reach up and touch it with amazement, and stare up at him in disbelief. Then I stand up and run over to a mirror to double check his work.
“How did you do that? This is an extremely difficult hairstyle!” I turn from side to side, completely stunned. “It looks exactly like it did before.”
“I watched the YouTube videos,” he says with a grin. “I wouldn’t want your mom to be suspicious or worried and ask too many questions.”
“It took me hours to learn how to do this style! How did you manage this in seconds like that?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “Maybe I’m a genius. Maybe I’m just good at stuff and things. You’ll have to spend more time with me, in order to find out.”
“Well, how am I supposed to see you again if I don’t have your name or number?” I ask him. “Those seem like very basic things you should give me after a great date. Maybe even before a great date.”
“This was only an okay date,” he tells me, stepping closer. “That’s my fault. I should have taken you on a properly great date, and I will someday. But for now, take this.” He hands me a card.
“What’s this?” I ask, seeing that the card belongs to a Michelin-starred restaurant. The Willow. Does he work there?
“I’m not sure how your mother feels after chemo—some people lose all appetite, and some people are hungry as horses. Either way, that restaurant is on the way home to Silver Mountain, so if you stop there, you can grab dinner together. I recommend the seafood chowder—it might be gentle enough for your mother to handle a few bites, if she has trouble eating.”
“I could never afford this place in a million years,” I tell him, although my stomach growls at the thought, protesting against my words.
“The owner of The Willow is very close to me, and she owes me one or two or three million favors. I already texted her that you’re on your way, and made reservations. So, dinner’s on me, and get whatever you like. Even the most expensive things on the menu. Whatever your heart desires. And feel free to invite whoever else you like. Any family or friends.”
“That’s so kind of you,” I say gratefully. And I mean it. I feel tears touch my eyes. A few hours ago, I was screaming at a vending machine about a snack worth a dollar. A few minutes ago, that snack was all I had to look forward to. And now he’s giving me this. It’s definitely the best date I’ve ever been on.
“I told you I’m not a sleazebag,” he says with a sheepish grin.
“I believe you,” I tell him. Then I glance at the time. “I’ve really got to go. But I hope I’ll see you again.” I move over to him and press a small kiss against his lips. Oh, God. I hope it’s not the last time I kiss him. I hope this dinner isn’t a goodbye gift.
“Silver Mountain is a very small town,” he says, kissing me back. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other soon enough.”
“Well, I’ve lived there my whole life and I’ve never run into you before.” A small ache of anxiety begins in the pit of my stomach. What if I never see him again? The thought is incredibly depressing. That would certainly push me closer to contacting the convent and becoming a nun. Or is it an abbey? Get thee to a nunnery, go. I think that’s from Hamlet. One of Shakespeare’s greatest tragedies. How will our story end, I wonder? In tragedy or comedy? Or is it already over, before it’s begun?
The mysterious stranger wraps his arms around me, securing me in a firm hug. “We will meet again, Juniper. I promise.”
The use of my full name gives some gravity to his words. So, I nod, and exit stage left.
Nothing else I can do.
Chapter 7
“Wasn’t it nice of Mrs. Merriweather to get you that job interview?” my mother asks, as we drive back.
“Yes,” I answer. When I picked my mother up from chemo, my old boss from the daycare hooked me up with a potential nannying position. She’s gotten me a few nanny gigs in the past, helping parents of the children who use the daycare. Especially when parents are working extremely odd or long hours and can’t use the daycare, or when they have to travel out of town for work.
Usually the gigs don’t last very long, or pay very much. But I’m not in a position to be picky about what I do for work. Every dollar matters, right now.
“You’ve always been so good with children,” my mother says. “It’s a gift. I was never that patient with you and your sisters.”
“Of course, you were.”
“No, it’s your father who was the patient one. Thank goodness for him.”
I glance down at the restaurant card that my mysterious stranger gave me. “Uhm, Mumsy—are you feeling hungry at all? Can you eat?”
“Of course, dear! I am not sure why, but I’m always starving after chemo. I feel like I could eat a whole cow.”
This brings a smile to my lips. “Well, I was offered dinner reservations at The Willow, if you would like to stop and grab some food before we get home.”
“The Willow? Oh, Junebug. That’s a fancy schmancy place, and we can’t afford that.”
“It’s a gift,” I inform her. “From the guy I am seeing. He said we could order whatever we wanted, on him.”
“A gift?” my mother repeats. “How generous and kind of him. And you made it sound like it’s nothing serious! He clearly cares for you if he’s giving you such a thoughtful gift.”
“Oh, I really doubt he cares for me. He hardly knows me,” I say with a small laugh. “I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. And even if I do, probably just two or three more times until he gets bored, I’m guessing.”
“Why are you so cynical, my dear? Not all people are the same. Give it time. Give him a chance! I have a good feeling about this one—especially if he’s buying dinner for you and your sick mum—well, he can’t be that bad, right?”
“Hopefully,” I say with a smile. But I’m pretty sure that my mother is just extra positive about these things, because -she- has been quite lucky in love. Not so for all of us.
“So what’s his name, dear?” my mother asks.
“I have no idea,” I tell her honestly. “He refuses to tell me.”
“What? Well, that’s strange,” she comments. “But just give him the benefit of the doubt for now, if he’s been so nice to you in so many other ways.”
“He really has been,” I say, reaching up to touch my hair thoughtfully. My stranger did seem like a very sweet man. Sometimes you just have to be patient with adults, the same as children. It takes time for them to trust you and open up. Perhaps.
“So what’s on the menu at The Willow?” my mother asks with excitement. “I’m starving.”
“I’m not sure—I think it’s a steakhouse,” I tell her. “He recommended the seafood chowder.”
“Screw the chowder,” my mother says. “I’m really happy to be alive today. And my little girl is finally spending time with a nice boy. This is cause for celebration. So I’m getting the fucking lobster!”
I can’t help laughing at her enthusiasm. Even on the worst of days, her zest of life is uplifting and contagious. I wish I could be more like Mumsy. Always looking on the bright side, always appreciating the beauty in life.
We sit in the restaurant, in the private room that has been reserved for us. It’s surrounded by glass, and overlooking a waterfall that is partially surrounded by ice and snow-covered rocks and trees. The river is mostly frozen on the surface, but still water flows underneath, creating the peaceful and relaxing sight of the falls. It’s a rare treat, as my family doesn’t eat out often. Never with such a gorgeous view. We considered inviting the others, but Mumsy was too hungry to wait. We decided to ask for some meals to take home to them, instead.
“I don’t know who this mystery man of yours is, Junebug,” my mother says as she dips a morsel of her lobster in butter, and then places it in her mouth. She closes her eyes in bliss. “But I think he’s a keeper.”
“This is definitely very sweet and generous of him,” I say, staring out at the wintery landscape. It’s like a moving painting. With little birds and animals occasionally popping out to go about their business. I wish I could text my stranger and thank him, but I don’t even have his number. That’s the only negative part of all this. I also wish he was here so we could enjoy this scenery together. And chat a bit more, and get to know each other.
Maybe hold his hand under the table. It’s probably dumb, to miss someone you’ve only known for such a brief pocket of time, but I can’t help it. I can’t help reminiscing on the beautiful feelings he gave me, and the way he took care of me, and it almost distracts me from the food.
