McKenna

I TURN OVER in my bed, a soreness between my thighs. Ozzy. A smile creeps across my face and I start to hum his new song, ‘Take Me.’ I shake my head. Keep things to the “just sex” level, girl, and stop trying to read more into the situation than what’s there. My smile fades and I toss off the blankets.

An hour later, I’m dressed in leggings and a yellow long-sleeve peasant shirt, with both my hair and makeup done.

Before I can leave my bedroom, my cell phone rings and I nearly drop it in anticipation of Ozzy’s wakeup call. My smile dims when I see it’s Felicia from the Project, but I force it back, answering with a jaunty “McKenna James.”

“Hey, McKenna. Hope you had a nice Thanksgiving. I’m checking in with you about where you stand with Ozzy.”

My mind races with all sorts of inappropriate responses. Stifling an inappropriate retort, I reply, “Hi, yes, my holiday was great. I’m making some good progress with Ozzy, to answer your question.”

“That’s what I was hoping to hear. We had a meeting last night at the Project to get ready for the Big Reveal party on December fourteenth. You remember your graphics are due next week, right? All of the other candidates have already submitted theirs.”

Bully for them. My mind races. Tugging on my sleeves, I say, “I’m working on Ozzy’s stuff now.” My eyes close. I know hers isn’t a question and she expects only one answer. “So, uhm, sure. I’ll make the deadline.”

“Perfect. Just drop by the office with a thumb drive when you’re ready. I can’t wait to see everything you put together.”

“You’re going to love it.” This presentation is, by a yard or a mile or a missile-launch, my best work. All because of Ozzy.

Disconnecting the call, I look at the blank cell screen. I need to push Ozzy to finish up at least one more song—and create the graphics for everything—all in a week. This is going to be insane.

Trudging into the kitchen, I put leftover waffles into the toaster. Luckily, the water in Mom’s shower is running, so she must be feeling herself today.

When my waffles are heated, I plop down into the chair and mechanically start eating. How can I push Ozzy to finish his songs? Creativity can’t be forced, but I need to nudge him somehow.

As if he knew I was thinking about him, he texts me.

Missed you last night. Got something big waiting for you right now.

Especially when he texts me stuff like that. Maybe sex will make his songwriting skills go faster? I don’t pause to consider what I’m writing and respond to him with:

As long as it’s pierced at the end, I’m in.

The front door opens and Elaine pops into the kitchen as I’m cleaning up. “I heard the shower shut off a little while ago. Haven’t spoken with her this morning.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.”

“You’re so good with her. Thanks.”

She takes out a mug and runs water in it for tea. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. What you’ve done—giving up your condo and moving back in—is a lot. And you’re not a trained caregiver.”

Her words echo those of my therapist. Shouting into Mom’s bedroom that I’m heading out for work, I drive to Ozzy’s. The ride over consists of me trying out different ways to get him writing. From telling him the truth to sexing him up. Maybe both.

At his front door, I press the doorbell and wait. And wait. I press it again and Bans barks from the other side, but the door remains closed.

He must be in the backyard. Hopefully swimming in the buff. I turn and skip down the steps and around the side yard to the gate. Opening it, I stroll into his backyard and check out the pool. Empty. My shoulders droop.

The French doors open and Ozzy strolls through carrying two glasses. After putting them onto the table, a closed-off look crosses his face for a second. Then, all smiles, he opens his arms wide. Discarding his unexpected initial look as my mind playing tricks, I can’t stop myself from walking directly into his invitation.

He kisses me with a thoroughness I’ve never felt before. “I missed you last night.”

“Me, too,” I mumble, stealing more kisses.

He breaks our contact. “How was your meeting?”

A made-up meeting was the white lie I gave him so I could stay home with Mom. Is it the cause for his look? Nah. Get a grip. There’s no need for my worlds to cross. What I need to do is care for Mom and protect her as best I can. No one—especially no man—will ever come between me and my family again. Ozzy’s only a much-deserved stress-reliever. I step back and force a sunny smile.

“Oh, you know, boring.” I run my fingers down his forearm. “Besides, have to keep you on your toes.”

His heels rise off the concrete. “Here I am.” Reaching out, he grabs me by my waist and pulls me close.

See, no worries. “Yes, you are.” My hips rock toward his.

Maybe one more round before getting down to business? I grab the rounded globes of his ass beneath his shorts. He’s commando. His mouth covers mine and my thoughts scatter. I rub up and down against him, his cock jutting into my torso. If only I were taller.

“Damn,” he growls and walks us to a chaise lounge. Stepping back, he kicks off his sandals, glides his T-shirt over his head and pulls his shorts down his legs. Naked, he sits.

Looking down at him, my eyes travel from his hair to his sexy feet, feasting on his various piercings. Especially the one pointing at me. I swallow and he chuckles.

“Are you going to stand there and look, or are you going to make us both happy?”

“I vote for option B,” I reply, my voice throaty with desire.

He pats his thighs. “Good answer.”

Stepping out of my sandals, I place one foot next to the chair and swing my other one over him, then sit down on his powerful thighs. His arms come around me at once and pull me to his body. Our lips devour each other while his hands play with my breasts, then take off my top and bra.

Leaning back, I place my hands on his knees and arch upward. His strong hands make their way to the waistband of my leggings, which he shoves down. I move so he can toss them, together with my panties, over his shoulder. His mouth finds my boob while his finger swirls around my pussy.

My nipple falls from his mouth with a pop. “So wet for me. So perfect.”

Perfect. He thinks I’m perfect. His finger rubs my clit. “Oh.”

“I need to be inside you now.” He points to a foil packet so conveniently located on the table. Guess I was a foregone conclusion.

Jumping off his body to get the condom, he takes the packet from me and sheaths himself. His cock looks huge and angry and so ready for me. I want to ride him.

Turning my body to give him a view of my ass, I sink onto his cock with a groan. Behind me, he grunts, “Ride me.”

I give him a cheeky grin. “You read my mind.”

I raise and lower my body in a steady rhythm, one that drives us both wild. My body urges me on faster, but I keep this pace, enjoying the way he fills me to almost bursting. Looking back at him, his face is scrunched up with the effort my speed—or lack of it—provides.

His hands come to my waist and I face forward again. He pushes me faster, faster, faster and I willingly go. Soon, I’m racing toward the finish line. His hand comes around and twists my nipple, and a tingling buzzes from my center outward. I explode with a loud “Fuck.”

A strained laugh comes out of his mouth as he thrusts into my body. Squeezing my boob, he stiffens and then shouts, “Fuck, yes!”

His mouth contacts my back, kissing from one shoulder blade to the other all the while his fingers remain on my boobs. I squeeze him from inside since I don’t have access to any other part of his body.

“What are you doing to me, woman?” He collapses back onto the chair.

I stand and face him, knowing a goofy smile covers my face. “I could ask you the same question.” Taking in his relaxed features and hard body, heat travels up my neck and cheeks. I put that look on him. Me.

“Damn. If you don’t want a repeat performance in about five minutes, you’d better get dressed.”

Before I can consider my words, “Sounds good to me” tumbles out of my mouth.

He chuckles and in one swift move, comes to his feet, picks me up and tosses me into the pool. Spluttering to the surface, I shout, “Ozzy!”

Standing by the side of the pool, he laughs. Before I can do anything with my now wet hair and ruined makeup, he cannonballs in to join me. A wave hits me from the force of his entry, causing me to giggle like a schoolgirl.

Ozzy swims over to me and grabs my waist, pulling me into the deep end. Not ready to let reality interfere for another few minutes, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hang on.

Leaning in, I whisper into his ear, “Think you can do a repeat, old man?” I roll my pelvis toward him.

“Who are you calling old?”

“Well, you are eight years older than me. If the shoe fits…”

His hands drop to my ass. “I’ll show you what fits.”

RE-DRESSED, WE MAKE our way into the music room. I excuse myself and go to the bathroom to try to fix the mess of my hair and makeup. With only limited supplies, I do my best and return carrying two iced teas.

He takes his cup. “Thanks, Dulcita.” While he begins playing ‘Take Me,’ I set up my laptop.

Truth.

I promised myself I’d tell him the truth about my deadline. Here goes. “Felicia from the Project called me this morning. She wants to have my submission ready by next week.” I suck in my breath.

“How many songs do you need?”

“Three. Maybe four.” I keep my eyes trained on booting up my computer.

“Okay.”

My eyes snap to his. “Okay?”

He nods. “I have ‘Take Me’ basically done, and ‘Honesty’ is in pretty good shape. I’ve been kicking around some new melodies. Let’s get to work and see what we come up with.”

The next three days flash by in a blur. He writes, I create graphics. Sometimes my graphics change his songs. We work together and have sex. Good sex. Like really, really good sex.

But, I always come up with an excuse as to why I can’t go to his concerts. How many more times can I can pull shit out of thin air before he starts questioning me? It’s not that I want to return home every night—alone. Yet it’s easier to hide the truth than to let him in.

Because if I did, there’s no chance he’d be able handle it.