Marty
I couldn’t remember when I’d last felt so peaceful. Tired too. I’d been putting in some hours lately.
The dance-a-thon had brought in more than good will. Smoke, had reaped a few local contracts that wouldn’t have happened before the fund raiser. Last week we’d assisted in a Coast Guard rescue and I’d chalked it down to PR, too.
I yawned. My office couch seemed far away now. I considered sprawling sideways for a nap in the great outdoors.
She has a great place going on here. The weather had been fucking nuts. Thirty-four degrees and ice one day, sunshine and seventy the next. Her yard was already showing green but in the corner where fence met gate, a pile of snow hadn’t completely melted.
I’d left her kitchen and headed for the back yard rather than leave after eating breakfast. I knew I should get out, but, when I’d spotted the swing, it had drawn me like a distress beacon. I suspected she’d adjusted the drop to accommodate her own tall frame. And though it was still a little low for me, it worked.
The day had turned out to be warm and after I closed my eyes and leaned against the cushion in the two-seater, I’d lost myself in the pleasure of mindlessly gliding back and forth.
Okay, not mindlessly. I analyzed the Holly situation as I enjoyed the feel of sun on my face. She was fine. She’d eaten almost as much as me and kept it down. At least, I thought she had.
Having a company physician kept Smoke’s insurance premiums from eating us alive. So far it was working and was worth every penny of our investment. Garret had been damned handy last night.
Okay, I overreacted. Having resolved my concern for her health, my thoughts meandered back to our final conversation the night before. When we were in the booth. Before she puked all over my shoes.
I hadn’t had time to think about our talk as I’d been busy right after that, holding her over the toilet while she made me certain I’d never eat Church’s chili again. But I had time, now.
Point one. She’s a Baby Doll escort and doesn’t work for Maxine. Good. Like I’d told her, it could have gotten awkward.
Point two and three went together. The gist of them being, Maxine needed a dance partner for a desperate client, or maybe desperately needed a dancer for a client. I couldn’t remember the exact words.
But I got the important part. Holly did someone a favor and showed up and danced with desperate client—me.
Point four, ditto. She wasn’t for sale. Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that? My bad that after six years of not having the urge to fuck anyone, I’d wanted her.
I pushed the swing a little harder as my dick twitched indicating that that want hadn’t disappeared.
Point Five. She’d never fucked before. Was that possible?
I’m thirty-eight, I don’t know how old she is, but she’s too old to be a virgin. That whole concept kept my mind churning for a bit. I mean, if it was true, what had she been saving it for? Not me, that was for damned sure. She treated me like gum she’d found stuck to her shoe.
You’re a high maintenance kind of guy. Belatedly, her insult landed. Huh? I picked up my own clothes, ironed my own shirts, washed my own vehicle, paid my own bills. Whatever else there was in my life needing done, I did.
You’d want to know what I’m doing. She’d lost me on that one. What was to know? You’d expect me to care about what you’re doing. Not really. Half the shit I did, I wouldn’t tell anyone. The other half got sanitized—a lot. So, not talking was safer than talking, texting, or whatever fucking way men communicated with their women these days.
My woman. I mulled over that thought. She’d been eyeing me when I wiped down her cabinets. She’d looked away, but not before big john had decided to stand tall. I’d seen her grin, even if she’d been trying to hide it. Her tits had perked up, too. I was sure underneath her sweats she’d gone commando, at least up top.
I’d showered in Garret’s office bathroom; glad I hadn’t stinted on that addition when we built. We were all big men and Garret kept sweats on hand for when one of us came in wearing torn clothes from whatever encounter had caused us to need bandaged or stitched.
Underwear wasn’t a clothing accommodation Garret kept on hand, hence beneath my gray pants, there was nothing holding me down. I swung harder. Inside my sweats, my cock stretched, pointing the way to the house and the woman I’d like to be inside.
Every once in a while, I opened my eyes and peered at the house. At first, she was there doing dishes and watching me swing. I waved at her, wanting to expand the playground to include her. When she disappeared from sight, I knew it was time to go.
Haul ass, Jones. But, we hadn’t had any of the donuts, yet. The thought of two different kinds of dessert got me out of the swing.
Holly got me out of the house even faster. Shit. All I said was, “Wanna…?” Dammit, I didn’t even get ‘donut’ out of my mouth before she snarled at me and said, “Get out.”
What the fuck? “Did you throw up?” Her illness must have kicked back in.
“None of your business. Leave.” She had a ball bat in her hand, and though I was sure I could take her, it didn’t seem like a good idea. Reason seemed better.
“Calm down, and tell me what’s wrong.”
“You’re still here.” Looked like she knew how to handle a bat. Good for her.
I stepped back and continued talking and backing as she stalked toward me. “Do you need me to drive you somewhere, back to the clinic maybe? I can call Garret, he’ll be there and ready.”
I mumbled suggestions across the floor and out the entrance. She followed me, catching the thick inside door in her hand and bringing it along with her until she stood in the doorway, set the end of the bat on the floor, and leaned on it.
“Your company doctor said I had to let my sex partners know about my illness. Call him, tell him you’re one of my victims and you need the cure. He said the problem would go away, but it’s going to be a bitch for months. Maybe for years. The treatment includes weekly anal probes.” Having gotten the last word, she shut the door.
I thought about knocking and asking for my donuts back just to piss her off. But, I took the high road and left them for her. She’d been lying through her teeth, but I’d call Garret anyway. Hell, if there was any chance I’d encountered dick rot, he’d have already told me.
But, something was up. Maybe she wasn’t sick-sick. But she’d looked a little green around the gills when she’d been throwing me out. Garret knew all about her problem.
I climbed in my Hummer with a frown on my face. Oh yeah. Dr. Wilson knew all about her problem, and she’d told me to call him. Okay. I was damned sure with that order in hand, I could finesse some answers from the kid. I voice dialed. I loved this technology. He answered on the first ring.
“Unless you’re dying, leave me the fuck alone.”
“She told me.”
“Good.”
He was going to hang up if I didn’t come up with something fast. “She said she gave me something.”
“Marty, I don’t want to hear any of this. But if I must, I should tell you, I put you on speakerphone, so I could finish my steak.”
“Where the hell are you? And who’s …”
“Church’s fixing breakfast for the crew at his place. Surprised you don’t know about it. Oh. And you pretty much just told everyone we know that you got a case of something from a hookup.” Too late, the tinny echo of his voice, as well as the raucous sound of the Smoke, Inc. maniacs in the background, confirmed what he said. Shit.
“You, sonofabitch,” I snarled.
“Dr. Sonofabitch, to you. If you’re bleeding, need bones set, or an x-ray, come see me. I don’t know anything about Trichomoniasis issues. You’ll have to see a specialist.” He hung up.
That had been way too easy. I drove to Church’s place trying to piece together the information I had. One, Garret wasn’t worried about Holly at all, so basically, I extrapolated that she wasn’t bad sick, and whatever was wrong was neither life threatening nor my business. I disagreed about the last part, but I didn’t have a strong case for why, so I’d leave it at that.
I parked in back, used my phone to Google Garret’s diagnosis, and then went inside. As usual, most of the crew had ended up at Church’s place. Garret sat a table with Jack. Both were eating steaks. I pulled the phone out and read aloud.
“Trichomoniasis, a bovine venereal disease, specifically targeting male cattle.” Jack snorted but kept on eating. Garret grinned.
Dick rot for bulls. Cute.
I sat at the bar. Mistake number two.
“Good looking woman,” Church said.
I nodded. “Give me a beer.” Yeah, it was early. But I’d already had coffee and breakfast.
He sat one in front of me, opened another for himself and asked, “You care if I ask her out?”
What the fuck? “Shit, yes I care. Stay away from her. And if she’s with me in here, or anywhere, stay away from both of us. And if by pure bad luck we run into each other, for fuck’s sake don’t go sniffing her hair, again.”
“Smelled good,” Church answered. He tipped his beer, drank deep, and belched before he added, “I’d like to bury my face in…”
“My fist.” I set my beer on the counter and left.
Shit. Once back inside my vehicle I didn’t know where to go. I should go back to the office. The same pile of paperwork that had been waiting before still waited. I could nap on the couch and watch something on the tube this afternoon.
But it was a nice day. I closed my eyes for a moment, remembering the breeze, the sway of the swing, the sky overhead, Holly at the window pretending to not watch me while I watched her through half-closed eyes.
Okay, I’d go back to her place. Based on the fact her nipples had pebbled a couple of times when I’d been with her earlier, I didn’t think she’d use the ball bat on me. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go and going there felt right.
And that was fucking stupid since I’d danced with her once. Okay, all night long ending in a magnificent fuck that I could be remembering as great because it had been so fucking long since I’d fucked who the hell knew whether it had been fantastic or fair to middling. She hadn’t been impressed.
I wanted a do-over.
I made a couple stops, picked up some condoms in case I got lucky, and headed her way.
Holly
Unfortunately for Marty after I’d used two of the three pregnancy kits I’d purchased, my first encounter out of the bathroom was with the dancing sperm donor. I’d felt a panic attack coming on, grabbed my bat, backed Marty out the door, and retreated to my closet.
What if it’s true? What if I’m pregnant? I did not want to face that possibility. I almost left the closet to avoid it. But I sat, trying to fathom how it had happened again, how my world could shift, changing everything with no warning.
I sat with head bowed, surrounded by darkness… My lifestyle was not conducive to having a child. I worked a lot of the time to afford the things I had. And I could only afford the things I had, because I worked a lot of the time. I couldn’t stand the idea of selling my house. But a baby cost money. A baby needed lots of things I didn’t have…
My chaotic thoughts paused as I strained to identify a new concern. I’d just heard the backdoor open and close. I’d locked the front door when I’d escorted Marty out. I’d neglected the back.
The floor boards creaked, and the building shifted slightly. Someone was in my house. I held tight to the bat, hoping I wouldn’t have to use it.
The closet door swung open. I froze. I hadn’t expected it. While my eyes adjusted to the light, Marty peered inside. I’d moved the shoes and boxes, but I hadn’t cleared the entire area, yet. His gaze focused on the vacuum cleaner then shifted to me, sitting on the floor.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?”
“What the heck are you doing in my house?” I scrambled to my feet, belatedly remembering the bat I still held.
“If that’s your security, I think you need an upgrade.”
Smart ass.
“How about I upgrade to a 911 call and report a burglary. Then I can beat you over the head until they arrive and still claim self-defense.” And yet, as I lobbed threats and insults at Marty, I felt so much better. “You broke into my house.”
“Technically, no. I rang your doorbell, it doesn’t work by the way. I knocked, you didn’t answer. I was worried about you. I went around back and came through the kitchen door.”
“I received unsettling news. I needed to think.”
“You think in the closet?”
“Pretty much,” I answered and shrugged. “We all have different ways of dealing with stress. This happens to be mine.” I had no idea why I shared evidence of my craziness with him.
“Well, next time, lock up before you crawl into your think tank,” he growled, evidently not finding my meditation spot odd. Which was nice but left my own question unanswered.
“What do you want?” I repeated.
“How about sex?” Seeing my eye-roll, he said, “Hungry? I brought chicken. And I’ve got some music I want you to hear.”
“Why would I be hungry? We just ate breakfast not long ago. And I doubt we listen to the same sounds.”
“Need some help sanding your cupboards?”
“No.”
“Want me to work on your swing? It’s a little low.”
“No. Honest to God, I’d say you’re like a stray dog begging for scraps only you brought the meal. What do you really want?”
“Female company, yours specifically.”
“Company as in…?”
He nodded.
“Aren’t you past the age where you want it all the time?” I kind of hoped he wasn’t.
“I would have said yes to that until we danced.” He delivered that line with one of his wolfish leers.
Heat pooled low in my belly, my breasts ached, my nipples pebbled, and I told myself I was simply curious to see what he’d offer. Incapable of stopping myself, I opened my mouth and asked, “What music did you bring?”
I did not expect him to carry in a Harmon/Kardon speaker, set it on my living room mantle, and fiddle with his phone getting the song he wanted me to hear.
Rhinestone Eyes started playing, my hips swayed, my shoulders shifted, and my body absorbed the sound. Marty’s gaze held mine as he took my hands, caught the beat I’d already started moving to, and mirrored my actions. When the music segued into Stylo, he reduced the space between us, turning me in his arms to hold me from behind.
One of his arms wrapped around my front, palm resting on my stomach. The other delved under my sweatshirt to find bare skin. I arched my back, pressing into him.
His fingers, traveling upward as they were, plus the heavy beat of the music, made my blood heat and my body pulse to the rhythm. As warnings of overload echoed through the song, my butt rubbed sinuously against my partner’s arousal. Oh wow.
There could only be one place this was going. I edged us toward the steps, closer to my bed upstairs. He turned me in his arms, again. No playing around now, or I should have said, a lot more playing around now. His hand went for gold and slid beneath my sweats to cup my wet heat. His erection, confined by his pants, stood tall between us and pressed against my belly.
Damn. My sex clenched, squeezing hard on nothing, eloquently showing me a better place for his hard length. I yanked up his sweatshirt, hiked up my own, pressed my breasts to his chest, and pulled his head down to capture his lips.
Behind us, Glitter Freeze’s high-pitched squall provided counter point to its bass beat, and I sucked on Marty’s tongue, rode his fingers, and desperately reached for an orgasm. Apparently, he was just as greedy to come. He pulled his mouth from mine and growled, “Where?”
“Up.” I no sooner croaked the word than he lifted me, again as if I were weightless, and held me in his arms as he carried me upstairs. Just call me Scarlet.
I was impressed. He was impressed when he saw my bed.
“Whoa.” He slowed down to admire the giant, pedestaled, mahogany creation I slept in each night. It came with the house. I grinned. My grandpa was a big man. He’d built it before beds came in king-size. Evidently, no one had wanted to move it between the time he’d lived here and the time I’d reclaimed it.
But now was not the time to digress. I shifted in Marty’s grip and slid my hand under his waistband. Yep. He was a big man, too. I didn’t have practice at this kind of thing, but, when I wrapped my fingers around his hardness, he grunted, “Oh yeah,” and became more interested in using it, than staring at the bed.
I laughed when he dropped me on the mattress and started peeling his clothes off until he growled, “Get naked.”
Okay.
I started with my sweatshirt, but he was already baring me down below by the time I got my shirt over my head. My arms were still tangled when he propelled me backward and came down on top of me.
“I’m covered,” he assured me.
I looked down at his too late to matter condom covered cock, poised for action. I wrestled with the arms of my sweatshirt as he nudged apart my thighs, and almost casually, reached for my top. I thought he was going to help me out of the tangle of material.
Instead, he leaned his forearm across my trapped limbs.
“Hey,” I twisted and arched, instinctively trying to throw him off. Oh. My. God. He thrust home. I didn’t even have time to draw breath before the first climax rocketed through me.
He moved with it, timing his thrusts to the rhythmic clenching of my insides. Round one over, he freed my arms and grinned wickedly down at me. Oh yeah. Two could play that game. Using a move I’d learned in a self-defense class, I rolled him to his back and held his arms above his head, his wrists cuffed by my hands.
Of course, that meant I had to lean across his face to hold him down. He latched onto my nipple and sucked like he’d planned it that way. Every time he pulled with his mouth above, my sex clenched below. I was going to come, again. No, I was going to ignite and incinerate in less than sixty seconds.
I fleetingly tried to think of some way to reciprocate but gave into gluttonous pleasure when he stopped sucking my nipples and kissed his way lower. Much lower.
My slippery wet state didn’t put him off a bit. He separated my lower lips and licked. I would have cringed. I was embarrassed. But ohmygod it felt good, and I wanted him to lick again. And again.
He paid special attention to my clit. It felt swollen, needy, sensitive beyond belief, the zone of pleasure I’d underexplored in my limited experience. He used his finger inside me to appease my sexual core that screamed fill me even as another orgasm rolled over me.
Apparently, Marty heard. He slid up my frame, until his mouth reached mine, his chest covered my breasts, and his cock found its home inside me.
“Oh yeah,” I sighed.
He grinned, slid his hand under my rump, and growled, “Hang on sugar, daddy’s gonna take you for a ride.”
I’d thought myself to be in pretty good shape. I walked a lot. Sometimes jogged. Heck, stacking boxes at my warehouse job should have prepared me to match Marty’s endurance.
Not so. A blur of orgasms later, he finally came. He didn’t pass out this time. I thought I might. Before I could, he nibbled on my ear.
“How was that for a do-over, hotshot?” he whispered in my ear, making me want to do it all over again.
“Good. It was good,” I managed to answer.
He laughed, gave my butt a friendly pat, and got up.
Worn out and unbelievably content, I lay on the bed, eyes closed, thinking about nothing. I drifted awhile. Marty’s music still played downstairs, and I recognized Snoop Dogg talking revolution.
I dozed a little. Not much because the same song continued downstairs when I became aware of a change in the room’s atmosphere. I swear, it felt as if someone had thrown a switch and blasted cold air on me. I opened my eyes.
Marty stood beside the bed. In his hands, he held three boxes. Two were opened. One, of course, not.
“You want to explain this?”
So much for sex softening his personality. I grabbed and put on the first sweatshirt that came to hand, which happened to be his.
Covered, I rolled to the other side and stood facing him across the wide mattress.
“No,” I answered. “First of all, don’t snoop through my trash.”
“You will explain this right now. Do you hear me?”
Really? “Here you go. How’s this for an explanation?” I guess sex hadn’t softened my rough edges that much, either. “You’re the frigging moron who wore a condom and didn’t put it on right. The darned thing came off inside me. I should sue you for that, alone. Don’t stand there and glare at me. Your sperm got loose. My eggs came out to play. They tangoed. Or maybe they did. Whatever you call it, shit, happened…”
He held up the box and squinted at the fine print. “Says here 99.97% accurate. How many times did it—”
“Twice, three times if you count your on-call doctor’s test.” I crossed my arms defensively. I shouldn’t be feeling apologetic. Screw him. Well, no, we did that and look how that worked out. “You can go now.”
“What? I don’t think I heard you just tell me to get out after I’ve just found out you’re…” His lips seemed to grope for the term, but it escaped him.
“Pregnant. I think that’s the word you’re searching for,” I muttered, putting him out of his inarticulate misery. He grabbed sweats off the floor, his shoes, and left.
Well, that went well. I lay back down on the bed, listening for him to leave. The music abruptly switched off. Guess he didn’t feel the beat, anymore. Sadly, I tracked his footsteps to the door. Uh huh, open. Close. Goodbye Marty. I waited for the sound of his Hummer starting. All remained quiet.
I should go down and lock up behind him. Instead, I wandered into the bathroom and showered. It felt good, geez, wonderful. I probably ran all the hot water out of the tank I stood there so long. I might have cried some, too.
Silly, sloppy sentimental me put his sweatshirt back on once I was clean and dry. It smelled good, and I liked the illusion of strong arms wrapped around me. My stomach growled. For heavens sakes give it a rest. If I kept eating like this, I’d weigh four hundred pounds soon. Still…
I went down stairs and directly to the kitchen, hoping Marty had left the bucket of chicken behind. He had. He’d also helped himself to my kitchen scissors and the arms of my sweatshirt lay on the counter. Revenge? I could only wonder.
I shrugged, picked up a drumstick and shuffled to the sink, prepared to stare mournfully at my empty backyard. Except it wasn’t empty. Though it was only mid-March, the early warm days had already produced budding trees and grass beginning to green. And evidently a permanent resident in my swing. Marty wore my sleeveless sweatshirt. No doubt the slashed neck was so he could get his big head through the opening. His eyes were closed, and he sat in the swing, gliding back and forth.