Chapter 15- Callie
It’s the little (and not so little) things.
Ezra has been our knight in shining armor tonight, armed with a penthouse, pizza and piles of new kids’ books. But, the massage is sending me over the edge and has all my fires lit. It’s a dangerous place to tread and yet I can’t find my way back from the cliff. For all the years I’ve had to be strong on my own, strong for my son, he probably has no idea what it means to be able to surrender for a little while, to let someone else take the wheel and see me safely to port.
All the Duds in the world can’t compare with the way Ezra makes my heart sigh when he makes my son smile either.
Or, the way he turns me on with a few well-chosen words.
“Tell me exactly how long it’s been since a man made you moan that way… and then tell me exactly what you’ll permit me to do in order to rectify the situation.”
Breathless, I wiggle in his lap, struggling to express myself without dying of mortification. I gaze at the strong, masculine hand on my thigh. Veiny, a bit rough, tanned but paler than my own and no doubt very capable of making me see stars. Is this really happening?
“Nearly a year,” I breathe. He makes a tutting sound. “You could… touch me.” My eyes flick to my lap.
He teasingly squeezes my thigh while nipping at my earlobe again. “Like this?” Tingles all through my leg which seem to center around my pussy.
“Hmm-mmm.”
“Anyplace else?”
“Do you really need instruction, Ezra?” I ask, wryly.
He chuckles darkly, his hand sliding up and under the edge of the jersey. His jersey. I never want to take it off because it smells like him, that sandalwood scent mixed with man. But, I can’t focus on that when all my attention is eaten up by his touch. The tingling sensation grows stronger, blood rushes to my pleasure points and screams, Yes, finally!
A slow caress and his finger nudges the elastic of my panties. Then, he carefully moves his hand over and down between my legs. I can feel his hard cock pressed against my hip – a monster I want to tame – but the first tentative brush of his fingertips over the front of my panties banishes coherent thought. I’m his instrument to play as he pleases.
“Spread those legs, darling,” he husks and I do.
His palm cups my pussy, pressing down in a circular motion to stimulate my clit. Stars, sparks and tingles, oh my. “More.”
Another nip followed by a deep kiss. I want to live in his kiss. Then, his hot tongue licks my throat as his fingers slide my panties to one side. “Am I allowed to do this to earn a moan?”
Helplessly, I nod. A long, thick finger explores my slit, swiping up and down my crease. He pulls his finger free after a few minutes of building pleasure and I grumble. He chuckles, popping the finger in his mouth. “Just wetting my beak, little hummingbird. Promise not to keep you waiting too long.” He makes the sexiest sounding moan as he tastes me. “So wet already. Soaked. I love that you’re wet for me.”
He’s got an arm circled around my waist and that hand reaches up, tweaking my hardened nipple through the fabric. Another powerful pulse at my center. The other hand returns to its place between my legs. A soft caress and then more pressure. A broken moan, low but undeniable, escapes when he dips his finger inside of me with his thumb deftly rubbing my clit. “Oh, Lord.”
“No, it’s still me - Ezra,” he teases, tugging at my nipple while fingering me, pumping in and out.
It’s a steady rhythm, growing faster, and, with it, my excitement builds from a soft hum to a roaring crescendo. It’s a need I’ve been denied for too long, a race I want to win. “I want to come. I want to come,” I vaguely hear myself chanting.
His hot breath is in my ear. “You’re going to, you’re almost there. I can’t wait to watch you come for me.”
His mouth closes over the pulse point on my neck, a gentle suction, as he pinches my nipple just so. Then, his finger curls inside of me and my toes curl in response. A long wavering moan tears its way past my lips. White lights and rushing rapture. Victory.
I slump into his arms, like a marathoner at the finish line, a contented grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. I can’t believe we just did that, that I just let him do that to me after telling him I needed time forty-eight hours ago. I could blame the wine perhaps… but I don’t want to.
He’s studying my mouth when I dare a glance at him and I feel my cheeks catch fire. Ezra just made me come.
Embarrassed, I try to look away as the unwelcome question springs to mind – how many women has he made come in this penthouse? In this impressive but austere place that looks like it was taken straight from a magazine and on this very sofa as they sat in his lap? He’s no novice with a fumbling touch after all. Chase was unfaithful. Would Ezra be the same? Would he even offer to be monogamous in the first place? He’s rich, gorgeous and famous. He owes me nothing.
“Talk to me, hummingbird,” he murmurs, stroking my cheek.
“It felt amazing. I felt… a lot,” I say, lamely.
He takes my hand in his and presses it to his broad chest. His heart thunders beneath the soft fabric of his t-shirt that’s warmed by his skin. “So did I.” That intense stare, the sincerity in his tone, I want to believe him but I’m once bitten by a Sokolov and twice shy.
“Well, I suppose you didn’t feel as much as I did,” I say jokingly, trying to lighten the heavy moment. Without thinking, my hand casually brushes the front of his trousers.
“Callie,” he growls and that growl spurs me on.
“Yes, Mr. Sokolov? Would you like to be touched, too?” I purr, cupping the hot steel hiding behind that zipper more firmly.
“I think you should-ahh,fuck,” he grunts, his forehead falling against my shoulder as he shudders.
My mouth falls open. Fuck is right. He just came. From one touch. Through his trousers. Nerves dance all through my skin. A strange sense of accomplishment does, too. “I’m… sorry?” Not sorry.
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Christ, don’t be sorry. I promise I can last a lot longer than that normally but…”
His words trail off as we both freeze. A door just opened from up above.
“Mama?”
“Wyatt,” we whisper to each other in sync, my eyes as wide as his. Should’ve known a strange place would make sleep harder for my boy.
“Mama, it’s dark in here. Come sing.”
“I’ll, uh… go take care of this and then check on you both,” Ezra says, his chin jerking down to his lap.
I stifle the urge to giggle. “Yes, I’ll…” I hop off his lap, straightening my panties and the jersey. “Coming, Bump!” I cry, hurrying to my son.
Sweet Jesus, that was a close one and I should be ashamed. But, I’m not. I’m ridiculously giddy from all the dopamine and oxytocin floating through me post-orgasm. Giddier still when Ezra joins us wearing a pair of shorts and Wyatt convinces him to join our sing-along.
∞∞∞
When I wake the next morning, I’m in a huge bed surrounded by soft sheets that are not my own. Ezra’s guest room. I wish the sheets smelled like him. I don’t remember coming in here. I think I fell asleep singing to Wyatt. Did Ezra bring me here? Surely, I’d remember.
Stretching, my nose twitches with the scent of coffee and bacon. I find the two of them in the kitchen; Wyatt watching an episode of Bumpy on a tablet and Ezra making eggs. The sweet domesticity fills me with the same piercing ache Ezra’s kisses evoke.
“Mama, I’m not going to school. Going to work with Ezra today,” Wyatt says as I drop a kiss on top of his head.
Like ice water being thrown in my face, the comment brings me up short and fear trickles in. Ezra is still Chase’s brother and I’d warned him not to manipulate more meetings with Wyatt.
But, Ezra is staring at me, eyes blazing and tone serious when he replies to Wyatt. “I don’t believe I said any such thing to you, Bump.” Wyatt hangs his head in that guilty way I recognize. “You’ve got school to go to while your mama and I have work.”
“But you’re the boss at your work.”
“Even bosses have things to do just like boys have more things to learn. Things you can tell me next time we meet.”
Wyatt pouts. “Can I go to your work someday?”
Ezra places a glass of milk in front of him, pulls out my chair and dishes out the eggs for us both. “Maybe if your mama agrees at some point but no promises today, Bump. And, my regular job isn’t as exciting as hockey. Lots of numbers and money talk.”
“I like money,” Wyatt mumbles.
Don’t we all, kid, I think as I take a seat, murmuring my thanks when he sets a hot cup of coffee in front of me.
I’m attracted to Ezra. I like Ezra. I want Ezra. And, I love seeing him with Wyatt but do I dare let him too far into our lives?
He’s been good to you so far. You can show him some faith.
I make a decision, then and there, that I know will thrill Wyatt and please Ezra. “You can see the arena again on Saturday night, Wyatt. Ezra has invited us to watch the Fog’s first preseason game with him.”
The pout is completely forgotten as my son squeals with glee. Oddly enough, I take as much satisfaction from seeing Ezra’s warm smile as I do from Wyatt’s exuberant cheers.
An hour later, a town car pulls up to the front of Ezra’s building. Wyatt and him have some elaborate parting routine started since he’ll be driving his SUV to his office. It’s well beyond ‘Adios, Cinnamon Toast.’ I’m both charmed and uncertain over it.
Wyatt chatters excitedly while I reflect. What a day yesterday was. Ezra’s sweetness. Ezra’s hotness. My poor apartment. My poor Grumpy Bumpy. Such a silly thing to shed tears over but there are a lot of memories tied to that old story book. The new edition is nice but it reminds me of a new penny when you were used to the dingy but lucky one you kept in your pocket. The pages are so pristine, the illustrations a bit too perfect. At least, Wyatt is pleased with it.
Ezra sends a text before we make it to Wyatt’s school, letting me know our apartment will be ready for us by this evening. I can’t believe it’s so fast but a determined billionaire gets things done, I suppose. It’s probably for the best. I’m not sure how I’d handle another night at Ezra’s.
Me:Thank you for your hospitality.
Ezra: Glad to be of service.
I feel myself blushing. Such formal language between us.
Me:Thanks for the O, too. You earned every moan.
Immediately, I wish I could recall the text. What a thing to text! What will he think of-
Ezra: Don’t thank me.Just permit me to earn more of them.
I’m not sure how to reply to that. Do I still want time when it comes to wanting Ezra? Shouldn’t I still want time?
When I arrive at the office, there’s a brown paper-wrapped parcel on my desk that’s been delivered express. How the hell did he get something shipped here when we barely left him forty-five minutes ago? Maybe it’s something he’d sent a day or two ago. Could even be related to work. He is a major client after all. It feels like papers, a document.
Curious, I slice through the packaging and upend it. A book plops onto my desk. A first edition copy of Grumpy Bumpy, signed by the author. How the hell, indeed.