Chapter 48 Verity
FORTY-EIGHT
Verity
I taste the air.
It’s sweet and tart and savory. A trinity of sensations melting under my tongue and sliding down my throat, not settling in my belly, but floating. Lining my stomach with hope and euphoria.
The sky is nothing as pedestrian as blue. It’s cobalt, struck through with azure. And the sun—blazing, molten gold. The wind whispers to me; caressing my ears and whistling through, filling, widening the desolate, narrow pathways in my mind.
My blood is humming, a thousand melodies singing through my capillaries and veins, carried to my heart.
My skin is shrink-wrapped to my muscle and bones. So perfectly fit it’s baked onto this body.
I’m expanding. So fucking alive the walls—dead trees and drywall—can’t contain me.
That’s why I’m out here. Outside by Monk’s pool.
I toss one of my shoes into the water and watch it skid across the surface like a skipping rock and then sink to the bottom.
The ripples are mesmerizing, and even when the oven beeps inside, snapping my reverie, it’s hard to pull myself away from the aquamarine water.
I hurry in from the patio, skidding to a halt in the kitchen and pulling out the crusty loaf I made from scratch with my new bread maker.
Why did I ever buy bread in the store?
It takes no time to make. And I’m really good at it.
“Monk’s gonna love this,” I mutter, setting the pan of bread on the stovetop.
I check the marry me pasta, the sauce rich and scarlet, studded with cherry tomatoes.
Bejeweled with spinach and basil.
“Bejeweled,” I say aloud, testing the word. “Bejeweled. Beeeee-juled.”
It sounds strange. When you say it over and over like that.
I survey Monk’s kitchen, the counters filled with various dishes and the air scented with delicious food I’ve been preparing for hours.
I can’t wait for him to get home. It’s been a few weeks since Neevah’s collapse.
We’ve been back in LA a few days, but I’ve barely been to my house.
I’ve been here with him and it’s so good. It’s felt so right.
“What’s all this?” Monk asks from the door.
I turn and practically squeal at the sight of him in his dark jeans and the mint-green shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. God, his forearms. Muscles, veins, burnished skin.
“Hiiii!” I cross the kitchen and wrap my arms around his waist.
“Hi, yourself.” He smiles down at me, his eyes warm, his hands firm at my hips. “You’re… happy.”
“It’s Valentine’s Day.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day.” I tip up and kiss him lightly.
He frowns over my shoulder at the huge spread of food in the kitchen. “I thought we said we’d keep it simple since we’re both so busy.”
“I did keep it simple. I just made a few things so we’d have options.”
“A few things?” His brows lift and his gaze drifts to the stove. “Like what?”
“Chicken cacciatore, garlic butter pork chops, mixed veggies, steak, and marry me pasta.” I pinch his cheek. “Don’t let the name fool ya. I’m not expecting a proposal.”
“Okayyyy.” He studies my face for a few seconds, searching my eyes, before his expression loosens into a smile. “It smells delicious. I just know you have that meeting with the studio tomorrow. I didn’t think you’d have time for all this.”
“Don’t remind me.” I drop my head to his shoulder. “I hate the shit I’ve come up with. I’ve been so uninspired.”
“You’ve been busy.” He lifts my chin with one finger until I’m forced to look into his eyes. “You were working on Dessi the last few months. Of course it was hard to focus. They should understand.”
“I’ll just pitch them my sucky idea and tell them I’ll have something better in a few weeks, now that things have wrapped.”
“Wrapped for you. Now I gotta score this thing. We’ll grab the last of Neevah’s studio recordings once she’s better.” Monk blows out an elongated breath that carries the same worry I feel. “Yeah, they’ve stopped production until further notice.”
“Jesus.” I close my eyes, shaken by the gravity of Neevah’s condition. “I can only imagine how terrified she is.”
“Canon too, though he tries to hide it. He’s kind of shifted to post-production, even though there’s a couple of scenes Neevah and Trey need to finish.”
“You still going to New York to work on that album?” I ask.
“Yeah, tomorrow. Sure you don’t want to come?”
“Nah, but we gotta make the most of our time before you go.” I grab his hand and lead him from the kitchen and out to the foyer, stopping at the bottom of the stairwell. “I need you to go upstairs and shower and prepare.”
“Prepare?” He quirks a brow and then drops his head and groans. “You were serious about that?”
“About butt stuff on Valentine’s Day?” I giggle. “Oh, hell yeah. I’ve already done all my preparations. I’ve left everything for you on the counter.”
“And by everything,” he says cautiously, “you mean—”
“All the things you need to clean, and get ready, yes. I know this is your first rodeo, but it’s not mine, and believe me when I say things can get messy quick.”
“Can we not…” He breathes out a laugh. “I’m doing this for you.”
“By the end of the night, you’ll be thanking me. Profusely.”
He glances at his watch. “It’s early to eat.”
“Oh, we’ll eat… after. I find that’s best.”
“Jesus.” He shakes his head. “Don’t go telling your friends I did this shit.”
“Our little secret, butt buddy.” I swat his ass. “Get up there. I’m right ‘behind’ you. Get it? Behind.”
“You’re very witty today.”
“I am.”
“It’s kind of scary.”
I press my body flush to his and grab his dick through his jeans. “I’m horny, too. If you don’t get up those steps and get ready for me, I’m gonna assume you don’t need those, um, er… precautions and we’ll fuck willy-nilly.”
“No willy and no nilly.” He starts up the steps, then glances down with a frown. “Where’s your other shoe?”
“In the pool.” I wave my hand. “Long story. I’m gonna turn off all the food. You go.”
By the time the food is warming in the oven, I’m almost vibrating with anticipation. I never actually thought Monk would agree to this. One night we were playing UNO, and I proposed a wager. If he won, he could fuck me in the ass.
Spoiler alert. I would have let him do that anyway.
But if I won, we would do my version of butt stuff. To say Monk was dismayed by my victory on a draw four is an understatement.
I’ve been with a lot of women and have the backpack of toys and supplies to show for it. I’ve had some good hetero sex, too. Don’t get me wrong. Monk is the best sex I’ve ever had. I just want to expand his horizons a little.
I did all my preparation while the food was cooking. I’m clean as a whistle. When I walk into the bedroom, Monk is sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing only his briefs, his broad shoulders gleaming and slightly damp from his shower.
“C’mere,” he says, his eyes softening when they meet mine.
I cross over and he pulls me down to his lap.
“Did you find everything okay?” I can barely suppress my grin. “I left it all on the counter for you.”
“Uh, yeah,” he says wryly. “I saw the whole… kit. I guess I did everything right.”
“Oh my God.” I bury my face in his neck and try not to laugh. “Do I need to check ‘behind’ you?”
“One more butt joke, and we ain’t doing this.”
“No more jokes.” I pull back and school my features into complete sobriety. “This is serious business.”
He leaves kisses along the curve of my neck. “You have on too many clothes.”
I stand and reach for the top button of my dress, but he captures my fingers.
“Let me.” He stands, his eyes not leaving mine as he divests me of my dress, the lacy bra, and then finally coaxes my panties down over my hips and ass until they pool around my ankles.
“Wow.” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his pupils flaring to drown out the irises and darken his eyes. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Vee.”
I spread my fingers at his nape, tugging his head down so I can suck his bottom lip and then the perfect bow of his upper one.
“Let’s dance,” he whispers into the kiss.
“Let’s what?” I laugh, glancing up through my lashes to make sure I’ve heard him right. “I’m naked, Monk, and you want to dance?”
“It’s still Valentine’s Day. Romance before butt stuff.”
He taps my nose and walks over to the bedside table, pressing a few buttons on a remote. “My Funny Valentine” pours through the hidden speakers, Chet Baker’s dulcet tones making the air sweet and heavy.
Monk slips his arms around my waist and pulls me to him.
The song is poignant, and our bodies sway a little, barely qualifying as dancing.
But my bare flesh slides against his. The softness of my breasts kissing the unyielding ridges of his chest, my nipples begging for his hands, his mouth—anything to relieve the ache building at the tips.
He’s hard against my stomach and the strength of his muscles when he slides his leg between mine steals my breath.
Chet is still singing, the song on repeat, but we stop swaying, and I strain up, wrapping one hand around his head and one around his dick, pulling on him and panting at his lips.
The music continues to flow over us even as we move toward the bed. He stretches out and looks over at me, one brow quirked. “This is your show. Take the lead.”
“Gladly.” I reach over to the bedside table I’ve adopted as my own and pull out my supplies.
Monk tips his head back and stares at the ceiling. “I’m never playing cards with you again.”
I snicker and kiss along his collarbone, down his chest, sucking his nipples and exploring the ridges of his abs, the swells of his pecs, the bulge of his biceps, and the flex of his thighs.
I delight in the hard, silky beauty of his body.
He turns me onto my side and lifts the curls from my neck, anointing my nape with open-mouth kisses, dragging his lips down the curve of my spine, and licking across my hip.
Finally he gently turns me onto my stomach.
“You sure you don’t want me to fuck you in the ass?” he asks, humor threaded with the lust in his voice. “That offer’s still on the table.”
“As generous as that is,” I say, breathless from his mouth all over me, “I have an even better reward for that dick.”
He glances almost woefully down at my ass and sighs. “If you say so.”
“I want to make you feel good in a different way, Monk,” I say, looking over my shoulder and searching his face. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah.” He runs his open palm over the curve of my ass and brushes his finger over the small hole. “You did say I get to do all those other things to it.”
I laugh and gesture to the array of toys and lubricants on the bed beside us. “Do your worst.”
“I’ve done this before,” he muses, feathering kisses over my backside. “I love it actually. I think I’m pretty good at it.”
Cheek to the pillow, I grin. “I’ll be the judge of—Ohhhhhhh, shiiiiiit!”
My voice disintegrates into something low and garbled with his mouth on me there.
His tongue lapping and pushing into the tiny hole.
It’s not something I’ve had many times before, and maybe I’d be self-conscious even with the douching and the waxing and the washing, but with every lick over and push in of his tongue, I become less coherent.
I’m sure my brain is leaking out onto the pillow.
There’s no shame, only instinct and feral hunger driving me to raise up on my knees, reach back and spread my cheeks, holding myself open for him.
He’s groaning and gripping my hips, eating my ass like it’s gourmet.
I asked him not to shave, so his stubble is slightly abrasive, scraping against my skin wherever it touches.
I push back onto his face, moaning and keening.
He nudges me onto my back, wiping his mouth and reaching for one of the toys.
He slicks it and turns it on. The low hum, the sound makes my body clench around the emptiness waiting to be filled.
He smiles down at me, reaching between my legs and running his fingers over me.
Still caressing my clit, he inserts the toy slowly, the vibration jolting through my core and sending shock waves down the backs of my legs all the way to my feet.
“Oh.” I arch, my back bowing at the pleasure devouring me from the inside. “Monk, I…”
“You what, baby?” He dials up the intensity, and my eyes roll back, my body jerking and my legs stiffening. “What do you want?”
“This,” I mutter, my tongue nearly useless to make sounds or words as I lose myself in the storm of sensation. He’s everywhere. His mouth on my breasts, his thumb in my ass, his hand between my legs, and all the while the toy vibrates relentlessly.
“I can’t…” I try to catch my breath, but it’s too intense.
I gasp and howl, spreading my legs, tossing my head and curling my toes as wave after wave crashes over me.
As soon as I settle, as my senses find earth, he starts again, alternating between his mouth and the toy and his hand.
It’s a cycle so viciously good, when I’ve crested for the fourth time, I sob into the pillow.
“Monk, please,” I hiccup, my legs flopping open. “I can’t again.”
His lips are swollen. His eyes are dark and feral. His grin is smug and satisfied.
“You were right.” He slides down my body and kisses, sucks, licks between my legs. “That was fun.”
I narrow my eyes at him, spent, but rousing myself so I can blow his fucking mind.
I sit up and reach for one of the dildos. “My turn.”