CHAPTER 5
Willow
At sundown on Saturday, the deli was packed with people from all walks of life. There were families with children and babies, grandparents, young professionals as well as college kids and some local street people. Every table and seat was taken and the noise level was high. My father was in his element, hopping from table to table, to see if everyone had enough to eat. Trust me, they did. There was nothing more my father loved than to than feed people. And watch them enjoy eating his food. There was a word in Yiddish for my good-hearted father: a mensch.
Dressed comfortably in black leggings, an oversized sweater, and ballet flats, I was helping our longtime servers lug platters of lox and bagels to the hungry patrons. One eye stayed on the front door—eagerly searching for Ryan. It was going on eight o’clock. Maybe he had changed his mind and wouldn’t show up.
Then, as I lowered a platter onto one of the tables, I felt a warm breath on the nape of my neck. I whirled around. My heart did a grand jeté at the sight of Ryan Madewell. A big Cheshire grin lit up his beautiful face.
“Hi.”
I don’t know how long my mouth stayed open in shock before I said “hi” back. My heart thudded as my stomach fluttered. God, he was gorgeous. He was wearing faded black jeans that molded to his thighs like a second skin and an open charcoal blazer. Beneath his jacket, his chiseled chest peeked out from the V of his pale blue T-shirt. He looked so damn sexy!
“Would you like a bagel and lox?” I asked, not yet having eaten a thing myself.
“Sure.” He grabbed one and bit into it. I watched as he swallowed. He licked a smidgeon of cream cheese off his sensuous lips.
“Wow! This is good.”
“Thanks. Mel’s has the best nova in the city.”
“Nova?”
“As in Nova Scotia Lox…smoked salmon.” I smiled, charmed by his naiveté.
“Right.” He grinned back with embarrassment.
My eyes stayed on him while he finished the sandwich. His fine upbringing was evident by the way he gracefully held the bagel in his elegant, long-fingered hands and chewed his food quietly.
When he was done, there was still a drop of cream cheese on his upper lip. With my index finger, I wiped it away, relishing the softness of his velvety lips. Hot tingles bombarded me.
As I pulled away, he caught my finger in mid-air. “I don’t want to waste a thing.” I practically fainted when he wrapped his mouth around my finger and sucked off the cream cheese. There must have been over one hundred diners in the restaurant, but I only had eyes for one. Ryan.
“Good to see you here, Mr. Madewell. Have yourself another bagel.”
I spun around. Coming our way was my father with a wide smile broadcast across his face. He, too, was carrying a large tray of bagels and lox.
“Thanks.” Ryan helped himself to another bagel and bit into it.
“How’s my daughter treating you?” asked Pop.
With the chunk of the bagel and lox masticating in his mouth, he couldn’t say a word. Nodding, he shot Pop a thumbs up.
“She’s a beauty, isn’t she? Just like her mother, may she rest in peace.”
Ryan’s twinkling blue eyes met mine as he swallowed. He nodded again. “Totally.”
I felt my cheeks flush. Did this gorgeous, talented Adonis really think I was beautiful? Or was he just placating my father?
Suddenly, I felt lightheaded. Everything around me became a messy blur, and the noise around me reduced to a distant din. Beads of sweat were clustering all over my body as all the blood in my head rushed to my feet. Like a swarm of bugs, little black dots clouded my vision.
“Pumpkin, what’s wrong?” I heard my alarmed father say, but words stayed trapped in my throat as the black dots multiplied and I grew dizzier.
The noise drowned out as everything turned to darkness. And then my knees buckled. I was going down! Spiraling to the floor like a limp strand of spaghetti. Just before I crashed onto the hard wood, two strong hands caught me. I blinked open my eyes and the next thing I knew, I was in Ryan Madewell’s arms, blanketed against his buttery cashmere jacket.
My father brushed a few stray strands of hair off my forehead. “Pumpkin, you just fainted. Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I managed, finding my voice. But truthfully, I felt weak and queasy.
Ryan’s eyes stayed fixed on mine. “Sir, I think she should lie down.”
“I need to get back to work and help my father,” I protested, feeling a tad stronger.
My father gazed at me lovingly. “No, Ryan’s right. You need to get some rest.” He looked at Ryan. “Would you mind bringing her up to her room?”
“It would be my pleasure, sir.”
I loved the way he called my father “sir.” It gave the always-disheveled deli man dignity. Without making a fuss, I let Ryan carry me up to my room. He knew where the stairs was having seen me bound up it last week to retrieve his book.
I wrapped my arms around his neck as he effortlessly mounted the flight of stairs to my room. His silky hair brushed against the back of my hand. I stifled the urge to run my fingers through the tousled locks. As I leaned into him, I could feel the hard muscles of his chest against me as well as those of his sculpted biceps. He definitely was in great shape. And I could hear his heart beat. It felt good to be so close to someone’s heart…again.
The stairs led to a narrow, dimly lit foyer. A portrait of my mother graced the walls, and on the entryway table, there was a large vase of fragrant Asian lilies, my mother’s favorite flowers. Not only did they remind me always of her, but they also deflected the pungent scent of the deli below.
“Which way?” asked Ryan.
“Down the hall to the right.”
“You okay?” he asked as he strode to my bedroom.
“I’m fine.” And I meant it. Being in his arms had restored my strength, but I felt like I was in some kind of dream.
The door to my bedroom was open. Stepping inside, he delivered me to my bed. He set me down gently, propping me against my pillows, and then covered me with the fuzzy blanket that was folded along the edge. After making me drink some water, he brushed vagrant strands of my unruly hair out of my face. The tenderness of his gesture sent a tingly ray of warmth all the way to my toes.
“Is it okay if I sit down on the bed?”
“Sure,” I said breathlessly. A sudden wave of embarrassment and insecurity washed over me as he lowered himself next to me. Here I was in bed with Ryan Madewell IV, the drop-dead gorgeous, bestselling author of Undying Love. Holy shit!
His eyes swept around the room, taking in every detail.
“Is there where you slept as a child?”
“Yes,” I said diffidently. The room hadn’t been redecorated for years. It still bore my white wrought iron canopy bed and the painted cottage furniture my mom had found at the 26th Street flea market. The pink floral wallpaper matched my bedspread and the curtains that hung on the window. It was so embarrassingly princessey. And next to me on one of my pillows was my favorite stuffed animal—a worn out, little monkey.
“Who’s that?” asked Ryan upon eyeing it.
“Baboo. I’ve had him since I was a baby.”
Ryan’s eyes stayed on him. “I had one of those. His name was Monk. But my mother threw him out when I was five. I think that was the beginning of all my fuckedupness.”
“I’m sorry,” I said with compassion, remembering what I’d read about his mother in his book. Eleanor Madewell. She was an icy alcoholic with narcissistic tendencies. So unlike my warm, loving mother.
His gaze moved to my nightstand. He studied what was on it.
“Is that your mom?” he asked, pointing his long index finger at a framed photo. It was a portrait of a woman in her mid thirties with flaming red hair similar to mine. She held a little curly redheaded girl in her arms. Me.
“Yeah.”
“Your father is right. She was beautiful…like you.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, heating from the compliment.
Before I could say another word, his face brightened. “And you still keep a copy of my book on your nightstand?”
I felt my face flush and smiled shyly. “I like to re-read chapters before I go to sleep.” I paused. “Thanks again for signing it.”
“No, thank you for asking me.” His eyes burnt into mine. I was having a hard time breathing and I didn’t know what to say next. The heavenly scent of his light cologne drifted up my nose, making me feel heady.
His eyes surveyed the rest of the room. I’d read once that writers are observers.
His gaze fixed on the framed photos on my dresser—most of them of me, taken at various stages in my life, in leotards and tutus, some at recitals, others at classes. Then, he shifted his vision to the worn, pink satin toe shoes that dangled from my headboard. They were my very first toe shoes—I was only ten when I got them.
“Are you a dancer?” he asked.
My muscles tensed. “Yes.” Or should I say was?
“Do you perform?”
I hesitated before responding. “No.”
A half-truth. I hadn’t performed for over six months and I wasn’t sure if I ever would again. I didn’t want to get into details about my recent past. Or think about Gustave …at least right now.
His eyes stayed fixed on the little pink slippers as he gave them a light tap. Tied to the bed by their frayed ribbons, they swung back and forth like a pendulum.
“Willow, I want to ask you something.” He paused, turning to face me again, and held me in his gaze. “Will you let me kiss you?”
My lips parted in shock, and my heart practically stopped. “Yes, please,” I murmured. Now! I couldn’t wait a moment more.
On my next rapid heartbeat, he cupped my cheeks in his hands, leaned down, and crushed his soft, warm lips against mine. He nibbled my upper lip, then deepened the kiss, gnawing and sucking. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. I’d never been kissed like this before. A heat wave spread through my body, setting every cell in my body on fire. As a moan escaped my throat, his tongue parted my lips and found mine. They danced together, swirling and twirling, two strangers in the night discovering each other. The salty taste of the salmon lingered in his mouth and mixed with his sweet saliva, making him even more delicious. My fingers fisted his hair as our lips, tongues, and moans mingled. I had read about his kisses, but nothing had prepared me for the sensation of one. I thought I was leaving this planet.
He pulled out of my mouth slowly. I was gasping for air.
He inhaled and then blew out a loud breath. “You okay?”
I caught my breath. “Yeah. Except I’m famished.” I hadn’t eaten a thing all day.
“Do you want me to run downstairs and get you something?”
“I’m in the mood for something else.”
Ryan stared at me with a baffled expression on his face.
“Tell me what you want, and I’ll get it for you.”
Gosh, he was sweet. So, so different from…
“C’mon. Tell me.”
What I was hungering for was right in front of me. Ready to be consumed. My eyes traveled to the bulge between his thighs.
“Unzip your fly.”
I seriously don’t know what made me so bold. So unlike me. Gustave had dominated me. Choreographed every move. I inhaled a fortifying breath. Fuck Gustave. I banned him to the back of mind.
Meanwhile, Ryan’s eyes grew wide. The look on his face went from raw shock to raw want as he lowered the zipper.
A wry smile curved on his glistening lips. “So you want a hot dog I presume?”
“Yes, a big tasty one.”
“Mine?”
Speechless, I nodded. His innuendos were making me crazy wet. More ravenous than I already was.
Rather than pulling down his crisp cotton boxers, his cock shot through slit. It was my turn to go goo-goo eyed. Holy shit! It was divine! Long, pumped, and ready for consumption. He repositioned himself on the bed, so that he was kneeling and his member was aimed at me. I couldn’t wait to taste it.
Lowering my head, I began with tip. First little, fluttery licks to savor the flavor. A delicious blend of sweet and salty. He hissed, and then under his breath mumbled, “Jesus.”
Without wasting a second, I wrapped my lips, like a warm moist bun, around his thick, hard length and then took him in, inch after glorious inch. He groaned with pleasure as his penis expanded in my mouth, filling the hallows of my cheeks. My eyes squeezed shut, I came up and then hungrily went down on him again. He let out another groan, this one louder. I wrapped my fingers around the wide base, squeezing it and working it up and down with short quick strokes. My mouth picked up its pace, applying deeper pressure as it slid up and down, gorging on the hot, thick slab of flesh. His breathing grew haggard.
“Don’t stop,” he murmured. “So fucking good.”
Coming up for air, I caught sight of the ecstasy etched on his face. My wide-parted lips took him right back in. Oh God, he tasted delicious!
My mouth glided back down, and as it came up, he began to spasm in my mouth.
“Fuck. I’m going to come,” he rasped as I sucked his magnificent crown. Another loud groan filled my ears and then his release filled my mouth, spilling onto my lips. Swallowing, I gazed up into his eyes—two shiny half-moons that glittered on his dazed but glorious face.
Before either of us could say a word, heavy footsteps thudded in the near distance. For sure my father. Reality hit us fast and hard. I hastily moved away from Ryan and tidied my mane of hair. He, in turn, tucked his still swollen cock back into his jeans and zipped up his fly. Before standing up, he cursed under his breath and wiped my cum-coated lips with the back of his hand.
Pop lumbered into my room. I held my breath, wondering if he would suspect what had just gone down between me and Ryan.
Huffing, he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. Sheesh! Going up a flight of stairs undid him. He so needed to lose weight and get into shape.
“They ate me out of house and home,” he panted, undoing his long, soiled apron.
I digested his words. That meant the grand break-fast was over, and my father had closed up. I glanced at my alarm clock—nine o’clock. Usually, he stayed open till midnight, but Yom Kippur was one of the few exceptions.
“How’s she doing, Ryan?” he asked.
I inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He obviously had no clue of what had transpired because my father was brutally honest, not one to hold back.
“I’d say she’s completely recovered.” A sheepish smile curled on Ryan’s luscious lips.
“She looks flushed. Pumpkin, let me check your temperature.”
“Really, Pop, I’m perfectly fine.” I leaped out of bed and hugged him. My over-protective father.
“Did you at least eat something?” There was genuine concern in his voice as he shot Ryan a troubled look. “Sometimes my little girl doesn’t eat enough.”
“Don’t worry. I did,” I countered.
“I watched her eat,” chimed in Ryan.
And at that moment, I realized I had broken this year’s fast with a heaping portion of Ryan Madewell’s cock.
Suddenly, all of Ryan’s color drained from his face. He fidgeted with the gold band around his ring finger, and then without even saying goodnight, he bolted out of my room.