Chapter Twenty-One Ozzy
Chapter Twenty-One
Ozzy
When I shut the front door, Tia steps out of her bedroom in her blue robe and moccasin slippers. “Is your friend gone?”
“Yes. Maren just left.” I head into the kitchen, and Tia follows me. She’s at least four feet away, but I still feel her breathing down my neck.
“I hope you’re not giving Lola the wrong idea,” she says, scooping her fiber powder into a glass of water while I grab an apple from the hanging basket by the fridge.
“The wrong idea about what?” I bite into the apple.
“I realize men and women can be friends, but Lola likes to let her mind wander. We need to keep reminding her that she is your only concern—your number one priority.” Tia stirs her concoction, pinning me with a firm gaze.
I chew slowly for a few seconds before swallowing. “Lola is and always will be my number one priority. I don’t think she’s confused about that.”
“She might get confused if she sees you giving attention to pretty women.”
“Are you implying Lola is insecure?”
Tia takes several gulps of her fiber drink before rubbing her lips together. “I’m implying she doesn’t live in the real world.”
I chuckle. “How do you figure?”
“She can’t get over Brynn’s death. She won’t get into a car. And everyone around her is allowing her to make up her own version of reality. So if she likes your friend and decides your friend should be more than a friend, I fear you’ll let it happen. But it won’t end well because raising that girl is a full-time job. Why do you think Amos and I are living with you?”
“How am I letting her make up her own version of reality?”
“By riding your goddamn bike everywhere. It’s time for you to stand up to her. Get in a car like a man to prove that her world won’t end.” She lifts her glass to her lips.
“What if it does end? What if she loses me? How much is too much?”
Tia continues drinking. When the glass is empty, she sets it in the sink and stares at it with a focused gaze. “If you die, her world won’t end.”
“No?” I take another bite of the apple and chew it. “But will her world be a place she wants to live in? Will she be happy? Or will she live with even more debilitating isolation? Will she refuse to leave the house? Will she end up in a psych ward or be heavily medicated for the rest of her life? Everyone has a different breaking point. I don’t want to find her breaking point. I want to empower her.”
Tia scowls at me, but she doesn’t speak.
“She’ll get back to riding in a car,” I say. “And when she does, she’ll feel empowered. If you can’t stay, then I’ll figure something out. But I can’t test her breaking point because as much as I’m her whole world, she is even more so mine.” I stop short of saying the rest: Maren has become an important person in my life too. I need help, and Tia and Amos are the best help for now. So I’ll continue to walk this thin line and deal with the future if and when it comes.
“You can’t ask us to watch you pursue another woman. Brynn was our daughter and ...” Tia swallows hard, eyes reddening. “You just can’t ask that of us,” she whispers before returning to her bedroom.
This is not just about Lola. It’s been two years, and I’ve never looked for someone to date. Brynn continues to live in my mind. I think about her every single day.
I miss her every day.
But as sure as Tia can’t help how she feels about me showing interest in another woman, I can’t pretend I don’t know Maren. I can’t pretend that I don’t have strong feelings for her.
My alarm makes a chiming sound at five on Friday morning. It’s the least-annoying sound on my phone, but it’s not how I used to wake up each morning.
Brynn was an early riser—up at five every morning for a long jog. She called it “getting her mind organized” for the day. She woke me by six—showered and filling the bedroom with the sweet rosewater scent of her conditioner.
This morning, I spent thirty minutes lifting weights, ten minutes showering and brushing my teeth, and two minutes changing my sheets on the hopeful chance that Maren wasn’t lying about knocking on my window at six.
Do I wear a shirt or stick to my briefs since that’s what I sleep in? Could I be more of a girl about this? Fussing over what to wear. I’m an idiot.
Proving that I am a girl, my heart skips when there’s a tap at my window. I turn on the light beside my bed, pull the blinds, and slide open the window.
Maren bites her lip for a second. “I got to thinking that maybe you’d rather sleep in,” she whispers while I help her inside and shut the window and blinds.
I slide my hands into her hair, gazing at her makeup-less face, which has a natural, beautiful glow. Her blue eyes are alight with life, and she makes it hard to breathe.
She furrows her brow. “Is your hair wet?” She touches the hair above my ear.
“I worked out and showered.”
We keep our voices just above a whisper.
Her smile fades. “So much for me climbing in bed with you, since you’re up and ready for the day.”
I gesture to my nearly naked body. “Why would you say that? I’m simply showered and ready for whatever you have to offer.”
Her fingers trace my tattoos. I’d like to say it doesn’t immediately elicit an erection, but it does. “There might not be anything sexier than a man with his daughter’s name tattooed on his body.”
I tip my chin to watch her trace it. “When Brynn was in her final month of pregnancy with Lola, she thought I needed a tattoo. It was so random and spur of the moment. We passed a tattoo parlor, and she told me I needed one. Who was I to argue with a pregnant woman? It took three visits to complete it, but it was finished two days before she went into labor with Lola. She wanted an angel tattoo. A guardian angel to symbolize I was her protector. I wasn’t feeling it, so I suggested a dragon, which she vetoed. Then, with the help of the tattoo artist, I talked her into my favorite tools spelling Lola’s name. And yes, we had a moment, after the fact, where we worried that the ultrasound was wrong, and Lola might come out with a penis.” I chuckle. “But I still think I need a dragon to symbolize protection, strength, power, and knowledge.”
Maren lifts her gaze, keeping her warm hand on my stomach. “Some Christians believe dragons are monsters of death from the chaotic sea.”
I chuckle. “You’re not a fan of dragons either. Noted.”
She shakes her head slowly. “I love dragons. Not the kind referenced in biblical times. More like Game of Thrones , Harry Potter , and The Hobbit .” She slides her hand past the tattoos to my ribs. “You have goose bumps.”
Yes. And an erection that she surely notices.
“You’re touching me,” I say with a husky tone.
She kicks off her shoes. “What time do you wake Lola?”
“In thirty minutes, because that’s when you said you’d be here,” I murmur.
“And the upstairs tenants?”
“They’ll be up in the next half hour as well.”
“Is your door locked?” she whispers before pressing her lips to my chest.
“Yes.” I close my eyes.
“And your whole fucking box of condoms ?”
I softly chuckle, opening my eyes. “In the drawer.”
She flits her gaze in that direction, and from her soft smile, I know she sees the six stems of yarrow.
“I gave you the note, but not the flowers.”
“Ozzy?” She plants open-mouthed kisses up to my neck.
“Yeah?” I thread my fingers back into her hair.
“Take off my clothes.”
I moved Heaven and Earth to schedule a weekend to have sex with her, and she’s managed to show up thirty minutes early to a hair-braiding appointment with a solid plan to accomplish the same task.
But I’m not complaining.
I’m too busy removing her shirt and bra. Too busy sitting on the side of the bed while sliding her leggings and lacy underwear down her toned legs. And I’m way too busy palming her breasts and tweaking her nipples with my fingers until a half-suppressed moan vibrates her chest, and her back arches into my touch.
I lie back, legs hanging over the side of the bed, but before I can guide her to straddle my waist, she pulls down the front of my briefs. My next breath gets trapped in my chest, heavy with uncontrolled anticipation. A moan, with equal gravity, vibrates my whole body when she drags her tongue up the length of my erection.
“Maren,” I murmur, closing my eyes for a few seconds. I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Stop? Hell no. It feels too good, so I let her keep going. I’ll stop her in a few more seconds.
Maybe in a few minutes.
And then . . .
A fucking car alarm blares.
Maren leaps off me and fights with her clothes to put them back on.
It has to be my stupid neighbor. He sets that goddamn car alarm off once a week, and it’s always early in the morning. I sit up, sliding my briefs back into place and raking my hands through my hair while tugging it.
The alarm stops as Maren gets her leggings pulled to her waist. Did that wake Lola? she mouths.
I shrug, letting my hands flop to my sides, gripping the edge of the mattress. Sometimes the alarm wakes her, and sometimes it doesn’t. When I hear nothing, I open the door and listen.
Still nothing. So I close and lock it again.
Maren gnaws her lower lip while hugging herself. I don’t have to ask if the mood has been ruined; it’s trenched in lines along her forehead.
“I’m ...” I shake my head and sigh. “I don’t know what to say.”
She pauses her teeth and relaxes. A smile steals her lips. “Cuddle?”
Pussy or cuddling? How do I keep from appearing disappointed? I crawl in bed, and she slides in beside me, wiggling and adjusting herself until her ass is pressed to my dick. My briefs and her thin leggings don’t hide much. This is torturous cuddling.
“If whatever this is between us doesn’t last, you’ll always remember me as the woman you almost had sex with but never succeeded,” she says softly.
I groan, burying my face in her hair. “Don’t say that.”
Her body shakes with silent laughter. And instead of resting my eyes and feeling satisfied that she’s in my arms, I snake my hand up her shirt and into the cup of her bra, stroking the pad of my thumb across her nipple. I’m shameless. Lola needs to wake up in fifteen minutes.
Maren arches her back into my touch, which presses her ass even harder against my cock. I tell myself to hold still. Be cool. Enjoy second base. Just because I’ve been to third and failed at getting to home plate doesn’t mean I can’t be satisfied with hitting a double. A double is pretty damn good for a Friday morning.
If only I listened to that voice of reason instead of my dick. If only Maren would stop grinding her ass against said dick.
I swallow hard, so fucking turned on I could die.
She reaches around and slides her hand into my briefs, stroking me.
We’re not having sex this morning. It’s too risky because of the time. It’s too risky because of the stupid car alarm that may have brought Lola out of a deep sleep. We’re not having sex.
We’re just—touching each other.
Clothes on.
Ready for a fire should we need to evacuate.
Ready to answer the door should Lola knock.
I continue to caress her nipple with one hand while the other shimmies my briefs down my hips just a fraction so she can stroke the entire length of my cock.
Maren’s breaths quicken and get a little louder.
This is enough.
I’ve made that my motto. We don’t need to go any further. It’s not a good idea. I can still hear that voice of reason, even if it’s getting faint with the hammering of my heart.
But then Maren aims my cock toward her ass, and I accidentally jerk my hips, which shoves the head into her crack, restrained by the stretchy material of her leggings. Her heart pounds against my hand that’s splayed across her chest.
“Maren,” I whisper before kissing the back of her neck.
“God”—she pants—“I want you, Ozzy.”
It bears repeating in my head. We. Are. Not. Going. To. Have. Sex.
With one hand, I shove her leggings and panties down far enough that just her ass is exposed.
That’s it. That’s all I’m doing.
However, she’s the one who guides my dick between her cheeks, between her legs. Okay, I may rock my hips, but just a fraction, until the head of my cock reaches her clit.
She stutters my name between labored breaths. “O-Ozzy ...”
My hand grips her hip, and we move together. It’s not sex. Nope. We’re basically dressed. We’re just touching each other.
And it feels incredibly fucking good. Maren is warm and so wet. She’s practically purring as I slide back and forth between her folds.
“God, Ozzy ...” She rides my cock without penetration. “I’m ... I’m going to come.”
I know the feeling.
As she orgasms, I pull back and stretch my briefs over my erection. The moment I press it against her ass again, I release, jerking my hips several times.
Fuck! That feels good.
We’ve collectively shared four orgasms, but I still don’t know what it feels like to be inside her. And that’s a shame.