30. Derrick
30
DERRICK
I was in the back office of the deli, elbow-deep in invoices, cursing the day we decided to upgrade the deli’s point-of-sale system, when my stomach growled. I walked to the front to grab some food. My father was behind the counter, slicing prosciutto with the precision of a surgeon, and I snatched a slice and dropped it in my mouth.
“Hey,” my dad protested, but he was smiling. “Go get a sandwich from the fridge.”
I walked around the deli counter and scrounged through the fridge, pulling out an Italian club. The smell of vinegar and salami wafted from the paper-wrapped sandwich, making me ravenous. I tore it open and took two large bites.
And then, out of nowhere, Rachel appeared. She was in her roller skates, gliding between tables and customers, drawing smiles and curious glances. She was wearing her Roller Derby uniform, which was essentially a tiny skirt and a fitted top that showed off her toned midriff. Her hair, a fiery red that day, was braided like a crown around her head, and my heart did that annoying skip thing it did whenever I saw her.
“Hey, Dad.” I stepped behind the counter. “What’s she doing here?”
“She came in an hour ago and ordered lunch.”
“Did she say anything?” I asked. I hadn’t spoken to her since I dropped her at her apartment the night before.
“No. But she does bring a bit of sparkle to the place.” He winked, then went back to his slicing.
I walked over to Rachel, who was now inspecting the cannoli with exaggerated seriousness.
“Rachel,” I said. “Why are you here?”
She turned to me and smiled like it was totally normal for her to be hanging out in my parents’ deli. Except, it wasn’t. I’d come here to busy myself and keep my mind off her. And here she was.
“Hey, Boss. Had a bout in Brooklyn this morning and thought I’d swing by for lunch.” She grinned, and a little hope floated in. I’d been missing her like crazy. It hadn’t even been one day, but every cell in body had yearned to see her.
My dad joined us, wiping his hands on his apron. “You skate well today?” he asked.
“Crushed it,” she said. “But also got crushed a bit. Occupational hazard.” She lifted her leg to show a darkening bruise on her thigh.
My father whistled. “That looks painful. Need ice?”
Rachel shook her head. “Nah, I’m tough. But thanks, Mr. Jacques.”
“Call me Johnny,” he insisted, smiling warmly. “You kids behave. I’ve got a pastrami to conquer.”
He walked back to the counter, and a pang of affection for the old man pressed against my ribs. He was an older, more content version of me—dedicated to his work and fiercely loyal to his family.
“Follow me,” I said, guiding Rachel to a corner table away from the lunch rush. She plopped down across from me, and I couldn’t help but notice how her skirt rode up, leaving nothing to the imagination. I snapped my focus to the menu on the table, even though I knew it by heart.
I thought saying I love you out loud would unburden the beast that had been clawing at my insides, but it had only made it more ravenous. Especially when the only thing that would sate it was sitting right in front of me looking scrumptious.
“Have you reached out to Lulu?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
Her bright expression faltered. “Not yet. Not sure I will.”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” I said.
She held my gaze like she was searching for something. The intensity of it lit me up, and I glanced away. There was no way I was getting a boner in my parents’ deli. But when I snapped my gaze back, she was still staring. A touch of longing crossed her features. But longing for what? Comfort? Friendship? More?
“Show me around the deli,” she said, already standing.
“Sure,” I said, and she hooked her arm in the crook of my elbow, gliding next to me.
I pointed out the framed photos of long-deceased family members on the walls, the history behind some of our oldest recipes, the secret to our famous pastrami.
There was a staircase at the back of the storeroom, and Rachel took a few steps up on her toe stops.
“What’s up here?” she asked.
“We own the entire building, including the apartment upstairs. It was recently renovated. We’re trying to decide if we want to rent it out or leave it as a place where family can stay when it gets a bit crowded at my parents’ place down the street.”
Rachel’s eyes lit up. “Can I see?”
I hesitated, but she was already pulling me up the stairs, and I was amazed how fast she was on her skate-clad tiptoes. The apartment was small but cozy with modern fixtures and luxury finishes. It had a bright kitchen and a long living room that overlooked the street. Rachel wandered around, touching and opening everything, her curiosity infectious.
“It’s cute,” she said, twirling in the middle of the room. “Generic but lots of potential.”
I leaned against the doorframe watching her. On the surface, she seemed like her old bubbly self. But there was a frenetic energy underneath it. She plopped down on the cream sofa I helped move in last weekend and patted the space next to her. “Sit.”
I did, and she immediately leaned into me, her head on my shoulder. Her sudden affection caught me off guard. “Thanks for all you’ve done for me, Derrick,” she whispered.
“Rachel...” I started, but any thought after her name fell off my tongue. Her hand was on my thigh, gently rubbing her thumb over the fabric of my slacks.
“Can you look at this for me? I think it’s getting worse.” She threw her leg over my thighs and hitched her hip up, showing her bruised thigh to me, and I swallowed, trying to focus on the bruise and not the expanse of skin she was showing, or her other hand still on my thigh, digging in as she balanced herself.
I touched the bruise gently. “It looks okay. Just keep an eye on it.”
“Thanks, Doc,” she teased, and kissed me quickly on the lips, then snuggled back into my side. Her head was tilted in such a way that her mouth was practically touching my neck right near the main vein, her moist breath warm on my skin. A rush of blood filled my cock. How could it not? Rachel had practically koala-wrapped herself around me. Was she oblivious to the madness she was causing in me? My body was on fire from having so many parts of her touch me, and her hand was so fucking close to my cock.
“Rachel—” I said, but she silenced me by pressing her mouth to mine.
All reason flew out of my head. Her lips were everything—soft and hard all at once as she nipped and nibbled, her tongue sliding across my bottom lip. A soft moan purred from her throat, and I was a goner. My hands wrapped around her waist and I lifted her up, settling her on top of me, her legs straddling me, her skates still on, and there was something so sexy about that.
God, this girl could do anything to me right then and I’d let her. Her tongue nudged my lips, and I opened them, ravenous to taste her. Her hands circled the back of my neck, and she dug her fingers into my hair. I moaned as she ground her hips against my cock, and my palms cupped her ass, squeezing her tighter against me.
Rachel’s hands were everywhere, shoved under my shirt, rubbing up my abs and over my chest and then down again, reaching between us, landing on my cock under my pants.
“I want you, Derrick,” Rachel murmured against my lips. “So bad.”
I grabbed her, kissing her harder. She moaned, squeezing me with her thighs, rocking her hips as her panty-clad pussy rubbed my rock-hard dick.
Every touch, every kiss ignited a fire I couldn’t extinguish. We fell sideways onto the sofa, a tangle of limbs and urgent need. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop.
“Rachel,” I murmured against her skin, my hands exploring, my heart pounding, forgetting everything I’d been trying to resist. I couldn’t imagine ever letting her go.
My hands reached up her shirt, cupping her breasts, my thumbs rubbing over her pebbled nipples. She arched beneath me, her nails digging into my shoulders. “Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Please, Derrick.”
I didn’t. I couldn’t. All the walls I’d built, all the reasons why this was a bad idea, crumbled to dust. All that was left was us, here and now, in this apartment above my family’s deli.
“I want to taste you,” she said, sliding down my body until her face was above my crotch. “I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel. You’re so good to me. You take care of me. I want to take care of you.”
Her gaze scraped up my body, heat in her eyes. It was a question, waiting for permission. I gave the slightest nod, and in a flash she popped open the button of my pants, slid the zipper down, and tugged my pants and boxers down my legs. The warm air hit my cock and she pulled back, her eyes widening into saucers.
“Oh my God, Derrick,” Rachel said, alarmed. “I don’t know if I can fit that monster in my mouth.” I choked on a response. “I could tell it was big, but this is next level, dude.”
It wasn’t the first time a woman had mentioned this, but I’d never had someone speak so candidly about my cock. I squirmed, uncomfortable by her rapt attention. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna try my best, Boss.”
I stiffened, a moment of uncertainty racing up my spine. “Rachel…”
Her hands gripped my thighs, and she leaned over my cock, her breath hot on my shaft, and I shut up.
She licked her lips but didn’t take me in her mouth, and it was driving me mad. Instead she smiled coyly and asked, “How many times have you touched yourself and thought of me?”
“What?” I panted, my heart thunderous in my chest, my cock aching for her to open that mouth and take me between her perfect lips.
“How many?” Rachel’s mouth brushed my shaft, teasing, each word tickling my skin.
My brain was short-circuiting. It was near impossible to form a coherent thought, to break through my lust to answer her.
“I…I don’t know.” My fingers dug into the sofa cushions, my breathing labored, desperate for her to continue.
She leaned back, an inch away from my throbbing cock. “Not good enough.”
“Two. Maybe three times,” I rushed out.
She smiled triumphantly before popping her lips open and wrapping them around my dick. “Oh, fuck!” I cried out, my fingers tearing into the fabric on either side of my thighs, my eyes rolling back.
When did I become a schoolboy ready to explode the minute a girl touched me? No, not a girl. Rachel. Who I fucking loved. Who I’d imagined doing this to me not two or three times but dozens of times.
Her mouth was so warm, her lips firm around my base, her tongue sliding up my shaft as she expertly pumped me in and out of her mouth. My hands released the poor cushions and dug into the crown of her hair, gripping her scalp, careful not to squeeze her head too tight. Her tongue circled my tip, her hands manipulating my balls, and my hips jerked up.
“Oh, baby. It’s so good. You feel so fucking amazing.” Words tumbled out of my mouth. Nothing sufficient. Nothing that could ever describe the unbelievable pleasure she was giving me.
She wet her right palm and held my base, working in tandem with her mouth, sucking me as she rocked me into her warm cavern, as swirling pleasure shot up my base, ready to burst.
“Oh fuck, baby. I’m gonna come. Oh God. Yes, Rachel. God, yes!” A guttural cry ripped out of me, my orgasm tearing me apart. Rachel kept pumping, kept sucking as I writhed and thrashed under her from the power of it. She kept up her beautiful assault until every last drop was out of me.
With a self-satisfied smile, Rachel released my spent cock, and looked at me through her long lashes. And, dammit, if I wasn’t completely undone by this woman before, I fucking was now.