14. Sixes and Sevens #2
Knowing my time is short, I focus on Jules’ pleasure. Remembering the reason she wore my shirt, I rub my thumbs over the flannel, abrading the sensitive points of her nipples with each pass. Her body stutters over my dick, her short nails digging into my pecs.
“Fuck. Yes. Do that. Don’t stop doing that,” Jules pants as she continues riding me, her pace slightly faster, but still maddeningly slow.
I could plant my feet on the mattress for leverage and thrust up like I did before. But I like this, being at her mercy. Her tantalizing, dripping mercy. It’s hell. It’s heaven. My chest gets tighter with each sway of torturous pleasure.
Losing my mind, and I think my heart, I pinch down hard on one nipple while my other hand slides down, my thumb rubbing her swollen clit.
“Oh my God oh my God oh my God…”
Jules’ chant ends when her thighs lock down on my sides, her knees a bruising punishment to my ribs.
But the pain is welcome, letting me hold on a few more seconds as her climax squeezes around me.
And then I’m following, my hands gripping her hips, grinding her pussy down on me as I come inside her.
Just as before, Jules’ body folds over mine, her curls tickling my neck when her head rests on my shoulder and my arms automatically wrap around her, holding her to me. And just as before, I’m amazed that this strong, capable woman wants to be held, and that she’s chosen me to do the holding.
“If I was still in the Air Force, I’d be court martialed,” Jules says after a few minutes have passed.
“I don’t follow.” I run my fingertips up and down her back under the flannel shirt.
Rising up, Jules looks down where we’re joined, my boxers still on. “I desecrated the flag.”
My laughter surprises me. And when Jules joins in, her face lighting up, an almost painful wave of happiness smacks me. Between the physical and the emotional hits I’ve taken tonight, I’ve never hurt so good in my life.
When the laughter dies, Jules wiggles off my dick and hops off the bed.
“Hey, wait. I’ll get you a towel, babe.” Her expression softens at the endearment I let fall. I struggle up, grimacing as my wet cock cools without her warm heat.
Waving her hand at me, she shuts me down. “No, no, you’ve already got your panties in a bunch, cowboy. Literally.” She laughs at her own joke. “No need for further acts of chivalry. I’ll clean up and bring you a towel.”
I expect her to prance off, bare ass swaying to the sexy rhythm that must play in her head. And she does. But before that, she leans in, kissing me softly on the lips, lingering a moment before pulling back with a serious expression. “But thank you for the offer, um…”—her cheeks flush—“…babe.”
I smile at her uncharacteristic blush and can’t stop hoping that it, combined with that lingering chaste kiss and endearment, means that last night was just the start of something. Something great.
Jules
“ Babe ?” I mouth to myself in the mirror after doing the obligatory post-sex cleanup.
I don’t think I’ve ever called a guy babe before. I may have thrown out the term to Jackie, but my preferable pet name for her has always been hooker.
Babe is new territory. It implies…things.
I catch myself rubbing that spot on my chest again. I really need to set up an appointment with the doc when I get back on site.
My fingers get stuck in my curls when I run my hand through my hair. I give up and pat it down, trying to tame the frizz. It isn’t lost on me that I am once again holing up in a bathroom because of a guy. The same guy. Mr. Goody-two-shoes.
However, when I remember the way he slapped my ass and ground my pussy down on his cock, the term just doesn’t quite fit anymore.
But “babe?”
I wanted so much to see Holt as I have every other fuckboy in my past, but Holt refuses to fit the mold.
I…like him. Like, like like him.
Disgusted with myself, I push back from the sink, rolling my eyes. Like like?
“What are you, twelve?” I ask the mirror.
Okay, so I’ve never had a boyfriend, or even dated one person for any length of time.
Meaning more than once and for any purpose other than enjoyable, biological needs.
That doesn’t mean I can’t start now. I mean, I’m Julie Starr.
Anything in my life I’ve gone after, I’ve accomplished.
I wanted to be a pilot. I’m a pilot. I wanted to be an astronaut.
I’m an astronaut. I wanted to be Jackie’s friend.
I got her drunk and listened while she explained her cowboy romance fetish.
Now I’m her maid of honor. I may still be awkward with normal, run-of-the-mill things like feelings and shit, but I can learn.
Holy shit. I want to learn about relationship stuff for Holt.
I brace my hands on the pedestal sink and take a deep breath.
Okay, I need a plan. Usually when faced with the unknown, I train. But I seriously doubt dating other people in an effort to train for Holt is going to send the right message. Jackie would research. I could research. Or I could just ask her. She could tell me how to do it.
I mean, I am going to wear a freaking dress for her, and I have taken on wedding planning and house designing for her upcoming nuptials.
The least she could do is explain to me how to be in a relationship.
That’s what besties are for, right? Relationships can’t be that hard.
People are coupled up all over the place.
This isn’t rocket science. And I know rocket science.
List time.
First, leave the bathroom. Otherwise Holt’s going to wonder what the heck I’m doing in here, and I would rather him think I was blowing up his commode than tell him I was sorting through my feelings. So better to leave now and not have to have either of those conversations.
Second, keep the shirt unbuttoned. When in doubt, show the nip. Men love that. This I know.
Third, take my cue from Holt. He called me babe first, so he must have some idea of where he thinks this is going.
Fourth, and most important to my self-respect, pretend I didn’t actually just have a bathroom pow-wow with myself over a dude.
I push off the sink, stopping my one hand from rubbing my chest. A quick peek under the unbuttoned flannel shows me the irritated spot, a bit red from all my rubbing.
Really must get that looked at.
I grab a washcloth and run it under the sink. Opening the door, I take another deep breath, throw my shoulders back, fix a casual, devil-may-care smile to my face and step into the bedroom.
Empty.
Huh.
Maybe he gave up on me bringing him a towel since I took my sweet ass time, and went to find one on his own? Awesome. Not even five minutes in and I’m failing at this whole relationship thing.
A distant thud and some mumbling reaches me through my half-closed bedroom door. I stick my head out and the mumbling gets louder. Wrapping the flannel around me kimono style, I tip-toe down the hall and peek around the corner and down the stairs.
Tucker is standing in the foyer, hat in hand, an amused smile on his young face. “You overslept? Again?” Tucker’s crooked grin discounts his shocked tone. “Whatever could be the matter, boss?”
Holt’s facing away from me, so I don’t hear what he says, but judging from the smile spreading wide over Tucker’s face, I bet it was very un-Holt like.
Holt managed to pull on pants before greeting Tucker downstairs, but that’s all. Seeing his back muscles ripple as his runs his hand through his hair makes my nipples that much closer to piercing through the flannel. He shifts on his bare feet and gestures to the front door. “Give me five?—”
“Hey.” I straighten from the wall, glaring down at Holt. “Why can you walk around barefoot and not me?”
Tucker damn near chokes on air at the sight of me. Holt’s shoulders slump forward with a heavy sigh before he turns in my direction. “Because it was worth risking tetanus on a rogue nail if it meant I could spare you the intrusion of a bunch of?—”
The front door slams open, almost taking Tucker out. The young ranch hand jumps forward, making Holt stagger back.
“Mr. West, Mr. West! We’re here!” A group of kids, ages ranging from eight to twelve, swarm into the foyer.
“Why aren’t you dressed?”
“Are we going out on the horses today?”
“I want to fish!”
“What’s taking so long?”
“Quiet!” Holt raises his arms, as well as his voice. Silence descends. “First, be careful in here, guys. We’ve got work going on inside and I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Oblivious to the chaos until then, the kids look around, taking in the tarps, tools and construction equipment. The hardwoods are covered in thick blue paper, but rogue boards, sawdust and other stuff is scattered around.
“Ohhh,” they say collectively.
“This why you’re late?” A small kid with a cool afro mohawk asks.
“Nah.” A taller kid elbows him in the ribs. “I bet that’s why.” He points up the stairs. At me.
“Hello.”
I’m met with a chorus of “whoa.” Keanu Reeves would be so proud.
“I’m Julie Starr.” Making sure to hold the flannel closed tight with one hand, I wave down the stairs with the other.
Tucker, grin still in place, adds, “The astronaut.”
Any kid who didn’t have his mouth open now joins the club.
Red as the flannel I’m wearing, Holt herds them back out the door. “Okay, okay, time to get out.”
“Aw, man.”
“But I want to meet the astronaut lady!”
“Cool, is it riding time?”
Holt grabs Tucker by the shoulder and frog marches him out the door behind the kids. “Tucker will get you situated down by the lake until I can get dressed and meet you.”
Mohawk boy pumps his arm in the air. “Yeah, fishing!”
Moving on his own now, Tucker continues the job of ushering the children down the porch steps. “I guess I’ll be seeing y?—”
Holt slams the door, cutting his second-in-command off.
The sound of kids’ chattering grows distant as Tucker moves them farther away from the house. Holt remains facing the door, his neck still bright red.
“So…” I rock back on my heels, fighting a grin.
Heaving yet another sigh, Holt turns and shuffles toward the steps. “Uh, sorry about that.” He rubs the back of his flushed neck. “I forgot th—Jesus!” Hunched over, he grabs at one foot while jumping around on the other.
“You okay?” I’m almost to the bottom of the steps when he throws up a hand. “Stop.” Gingerly putting his foot down, he hobbles over to me. “Don’t need you getting hurt too.”
“What happened? Nail?” My voice is annoyingly high-pitched.
“Splinter, I think.”
“Splinter?” I backhand his chest. “All that commotion for a splinter?”
“Hey. It’s a big splinter.” He turns his foot over and squints at it. “Probably.”
I give him another slap, this one harder and maybe in retaliation for making me panic. “All right, Sally Sue. Let’s go pick you out a Mickey Mouse Band-Aid, shall we?”