CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
JEANIE
I’m struggling to contain the giddy bubble that’s rising inside me. Watching the clock as I rush through my closing duties, I realize this feeling, this thrumming in my veins is hope.
When I stepped out of the steaming kitchen and saw Mason there, sitting alone in the booth, I froze, sure he must be a figment of my own imagination, some torturous trick of a lonely mind. But it wasn’t a trick, and now my mind is racing wildly with possibility.
The last guests have cleared out along with the grill cook and dishwasher. The kitchen is dark and it’s just me in the dimmed lights of the front of the house. Finishing the last of my nightly tasks, I lock up. As the door closes behind me, a thrill rushes over me.
Turning around, I see him there, leaning against the lamppost at the base of the steps to the diner’s entrance. He’s so sexy in his clinging black t-shirt, showing off those arms I can’t wait to be wrapped up in. He straightens and we lock eyes as I descend towards him.
The air around us is warm, humid, charged. My skin is prickling with awareness as I get closer to him.
It takes every ounce of self-restraint I have not to jump at him, let him catch me in those big powerful arms and lose myself in his kiss.
But there are things that need to be said first. If he’s here to stay, I want to do this right.
“Before anything happens, I want to clear the air,” I say firmly.
“Okay, that’s a good idea. I know you probably want an explanation,” he starts, but I hold up my finger.
“Just listen, first. When you left, I tortured myself thinking about all the things I never got a chance to tell you. I spent so many nights dreaming about you, only to wake up and remember everything all over again. You have no idea how many times I fought sleep, because I didn’t want to have to face you again, knowing it wasn’t real.”
A breeze rustles through and a lock of sandy hair drops onto his forehead, he looks even better here, now, standing before me in the flesh than he did in any of those dreams.
“I wanted to blame you, I wanted to hate you, and I tried… so hard. But it just wouldn’t come, because, deep down, I knew it wasn’t just you. I pushed things too fast, I told you we would just practice and then I expected you to be totally open with me, to meet expectations that weren’t reasonable or fair. I set us up to fail because I was too afraid to be vulnerable, to be hurt again, and in the end, I hurt myself. I don’t want to do that again.”
I’ve slowly been drawing closer to him, but I pause and he looks nervous. I take a deep breath and brace myself for the scary part. “I want to be open with you. I’ve spent a lot of my life hanging out on the sidelines, staying out of the fray, making things and people fit into the roles that felt safe for me. I don’t want to stand on the sidelines anymore. I want to dive in. Whatever it means, if it’s taking things slowly, if it means adjusting my expectations of what a relationship is supposed to look like, I don’t care. I just want to be with you.”
I’m in front of him now and as the last words leave my lips he reaches out, putting his hands at my hips and pulling me into his form. Instinctively, I tilt my face up to him, desperate to kiss him.
He puts his hand to my cheek, the weight of it heavenly against my tingling skin. His clear blue eyes look serious and he licks his lips before he speaks.
“I shouldn’t have left. I know that and I know I hurt you. If I could go back and redo that decision, I would do it in a heartbeat. Instead, I can only say that I’m sorry. I want to tell you everything, I want to start fresh, make things right between us if I can.”
My stomach is fluttering as he swallows, and brushes a lock of stray hair that’s in my face. The feel of his rough fingertips gives me chills.
“I’ve wasted a lot of years running from choices I made as a kid—mistakes I thought had permanently changed me, ruined me. I thought I didn’t deserve the kind of life I wanted. It never crossed my mind, not until I met you, until you did expect more of me, I might be capable of coming back from those choices. I don’t know if I’m worthy of you, but I want to try to be.”
I can’t take it anymore. I pull him down to me and kiss him with all the longing that’s built up in me. His lips are eager, and his hands are gripping me firmer, pulling me closer until our bodies are crushed against one another.
I can feel the hard pressure against my middle that sends shivers down my spine. The fabric between us is chafing. I want it to be gone.
I look around, finding his car across the street and grab his hand, pulling him with me towards the car.
“Let’s get out of here before we end up tomorrow’s gossip,” I tell him, pulling him into another kiss as I lean back against the car, waiting for him to unlock it.
“I don’t have a place anymore. I broke my lease on the house,” he says, as he lowers his lips to my neck.
“Yes, you do actually. I never signed any of the paperwork on the shop. It was too hard to go back there, knowing you weren’t there. I haven’t been able to bring myself to go back there.”
My hands tangle in his hair. I love the way he feels pressed into me against the hard, cold surface.
He gives me a quick nip before breaking the contact, unlocking the car, and opening the door for me. We climb in and race back to the shop.
It’s a ten-second drive, but it feels far longer.
I can’t keep my hands off him, kissing his neck, groping his chest, his muscular thighs, needing to cover every inch of his perfect body with my hands. I reach down between his legs and graze lightly over that delicious lump beneath his jeans.
When we finally pull up to the shop, I’m just about ready to start tearing at his clothes.
He leaps out and is at my door in seconds, swinging the door open wide and scooping me up. I sling my arms around his neck, lightheaded from it all, and let him carry me to the door to the shop. Setting me down briefly, he pulls a key out from his jeans, unlocks it quickly and kicks the door in with the tip of his boot.
I rush in and grab his hand dragging him to the garage. Gleaming in the moonlight streaming through the high windows, Jerry’s baby blue convertible GTO sits right where Mason left it.
“You haven’t given it to Jerry yet?” Mason says, surprised as I work to pull back the top.
“Well, we never test drove it, did we?” I tease. “Besides, his birthday is in another week. I didn’t want to bring it home and ruin the surprise.”
“How is he?” he asks, and the genuine concern in his voice tugs at me.
“We can talk about it later. But, as a matter of fact, since Jerry doesn’t know about any of this, still thinks she’s just sitting idle in the garage, he told me she’s mine… she’s practically a brand-new car at this point. I could use some help breaking it in.”
Mason comes up behind me, hands at my hips, pressing his hardness against my backside, grinding against me.
“If that’s what you want...” he purrs into my ear as he traces little circles on my neck just beneath my ear.
I turn, pushing him away gently and smiling, feeling wicked.
Slowly, I unbutton my dress, enjoying the hungry way he watches my movements. The dress drops in a puddle around my feet and I step out of it, losing my work heels in the process. Lifting one arm up I pull out the large clip holding my hair in place, shaking the curls out and loose.
“Right now, I want to stop aching over the past, I don’t want to worry about what’s going to happen in the future. What I really want, right now is to just be here, with you,” I admit, sliding into the back seat as his mouth spreads into a sensual, dimpled grin.
And then he’s there, on top of me, pulling the shirt over his head and pressing me into the cushioned seat.
He’s kissing at my neck, my breasts—the tight peaks sensitive beneath the thin cream cotton jersey of my bra. It’s like my whole body is on fire.
My body aches for him. Like a fever consuming me—my skin is heated, my muscles quivering, my thoughts a jumble of frustrated need. Hot moisture pooling at my core, throbbing and ready to take him, I lift my hips up to him.
He reaches down and pushes his pants and briefs down, maneuvering out of them. They land with a plop on the concrete floor of the garage.
I reach down to wiggle out of my panties, but he catches my hands and slowly, silently shakes his his head ‘no.’
Instead, he lowers his mouth to the fabric and sets his mouth on me, the thin fabric adding a slight friction that has my muscles coiling, as his wet exploration is carrying me towards the peak of sensation. My hands play in his hair again, tugging gently, desperately begging him with my body to bring me release.
Finally, he raises his head and pulls at my panties with his teeth, sliding them down, bit by bit while he teases me once more with his fingers—rubbing small, tight circles that have me gasping, panting, dying for him.
Finally, he hovers over me, and we lock eyes. Through the shadowed moonlight of the garage, I can see the hard angles of his face, taut with desire.
“Jeanie,” he breathes as he enters me, as if my name were a prayer. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans.
I can’t help but moan at the pleasure, the sheer, sinful indulgence of this fullness. My senses reeling, spiraling out of control, I find deliverance in the movements of our bodies, the sweet intoxication of his strokes.
Through heavy lids, I watch his face as he thrusts, impaling me, pushing me towards the edge. His eyes are frozen on mine. It’s powerful, this connection between us.
His pace quickens and I hear my own voice hitch. His name becomes a chant, a plea, a desperate, maddening recitation.
Harder, faster, he drives into me and, at last, the edge slips away and I shatter, light exploding around me as I feel my body shuddering. Still, I hold his eyes as he surges forward once more and he releases on a throaty moan, the vibrations rippling across my skin.
Our bodies locked together in perfect harmony, he collapses down on me, kissing where his lips land.
I luxuriate in the weight of him, the incredible way our bodies fit together so well, as if there is no better or worthier use for them than to be here, tangled with each other.
I close my eyes, savoring the moment as he breathes heavily against my neck.
“Jeanie?” Mason whispers.
I open my eyes, his cock still inside me. “Hmm?”
“I think we’re done practicing,” he whispers, lips centimeters away from my ear, one hand dragging across the sensitive skin of my ribs, still alive with sensation.
My heart is seizing, my breath caught in my throat. “What do you mean?”
“That I love you and I want to do this for real. Screw practicing,” he says, meeting my eyes.
It’s like the air has been sucked out of my lungs, but I manage to find just enough for a response. “I love you too.”
“Good, because I’m not letting go of you again.”