Chapter 2
“Thank you for checking it out, Jordan. As a thank you for not making me hunt Sugar alone in the dark and for pissing off my stalker, how about I make you and Max supper tomorrow night?” I ask. I don’t often get to cook for anyone else, at least, not for the last three years.
He teases me and asks, “Are you any good?”
Why do I have the feeling he doesn’t mean my cooking? I smile, “I’m alright. I make a mean salad.”
He chuckles, “Never been much of a salad guy.”
I look over his thick, muscular body and say, “I don’t imagine you are.”
“I’ll eat whatever you put in front of me.”
My neck flushes warm at the thought and I pray the blush doesn’t make it to my cheeks. “I’ll see you at seven.”
“Looking forward to it.” He smiles, then gets in his truck. Jordan waits for me to get inside, before he drives away.
I lock the doors, including Sugar’s dog door, and turn on the alarm.
I’ve gotten pretty fast at it in the last two weeks since I’ve lived at this farmhouse.
The whole process takes less than a minute, which my handler says is pretty good.
I trust his opinion on the matter. He’s been a handler with Witness Protection for over ten years, and his record is impeccable.
I crawl into bed, turn on my lavender aroma therapy machine, and relax.
I’ll actually get to have supper with another person.
Sugar nudges my leg, as if she knows my thoughts.
“You’re a wonderful dinner companion, Sugar, but sometimes, I’d like a conversation.
Besides, you ran off tonight for your own companion.
Don’t judge me for the same.” She sighs and falls asleep, reminding me to do the same.
***
The next night, the finishing touches on dinner are almost ready, when a knock disturbs us both.
Sugar trots to the door, I tug my apron off, and open it.
Dear heavens, he looks yummy. I’ve never been into older men, but he ticks every box on my list. Tall, dark, athletic.
Haunted eyes that hint at an interesting life, before he met me. “Good evening, Jordan.”
Max bursts past him and he and Sugar run around the living room. Jordan holds out a bundle of herbs and my eyebrows practically knit together when they scrunch in confusion. “They didn’t have flowers at Bailey’s, and I was always told to bring something when someone cooks for you.”
I chuckle, “Thank you, they’re lovely. I’ll put them in some water. Come in.”
He grins at my silliness, then looks around, “I know I was here just last night, but it’s still strange to see what a woman has done to Hanson’s.”
“How do you mean?” I put some water in a canning jar, then add the herbs.
“The heavy curtains are a nice touch. Smells fantastic in here. Not like ointment.”
“Ah. Well, that’s a custom blend of oils you’re smelling in the diffuser.”
“They don’t sell that at Bailey’s do they?”
I smile sadly, “No. I make it. I was a custom perfume designer, back in Nashville. I closed up shop a while back.”
“Damn shame. What’s in it?”
“Trade secret. But if you’re nice, you might find yourself with a bottle of the good stuff one day.”
He smiles, “Guess I’ll have to behave. There goes my plans.”
“How do you take your ribeye?”
“Ribeye? Didn’t think I did enough to deserve that.”
“You helped put my mind at ease, Jordan. My peace of mind is priceless to me. Rare, medium, please don’t tell me you’re a well—done guy.”
He laughs, “Medium rare, if you don’t mind.”
“On it.” I pop the fries into the deep fryer for their second cooking and heat the pan for the steaks. “You’re a bourbon guy, right?”
“Good guess. Truth is, I’m not picky, but I do appreciate a nice bottle now and then. What makes you ask?”
“Open the wine fridge in the pantry.”
“Okay,” he walks to the pantry and finds his treat. He comes back with the two poured rocks glasses I’d left in there to chill. Jordan delivers mine, and he has the strangest look on his face. Something like amusement and confusion. “How did you know?”
We clink our glasses and sip. Then I put the steaks on.
“When I had my shop, a part of why I was so successful was that I have a knack for reading people. For instance, not that you’d wear a cologne, but if you decided to try something, I would recommend a blend of leather and tobacco, with a hint of sandalwood and a carrier of almond oil.
Manly, but not overpowering, and it would enhance your natural scent. ”
“I have a natural scent?”
I nod, “Everyone does.”
“What’s mine smell like?”
“You’ll have to come closer for me to get a thorough whiff over the food cooking.”
He leans closer but holds back.
I smile. “Jordan, don’t be shy. I’m trying to get a good whiff of you.”
He laughs, “That’s the strangest thing a woman has said to me in a long time.” Then he comes closer.
I pull him down to me by his collar, then take a long sniff of his neck. God, it’s been way too long since I’ve been this close to a man. It’s all I can do not to shiver. Realizing I have to turn the steaks, I release him. “You smell like cardamom, bergamot, and cypress. It’s a very heady scent—"
“I hope that’s good.”
“Very good. In fact, I may make that scent, once I get things back together.”
He smiles and says, “I’m flattered.”
“Take a seat, I’m plating.”
Once things are set and we dig in, the conversation doesn’t flow like it did. It’s almost like he’s suddenly shy. But then he asks, “How did things fall apart?”
“Excuse me?”
“You said you may make that scent, once you get things back together. Which implies they fell apart. Now, I’m not usually one to pry into a person’s affairs, but I think you left the window open to it.”
“You’re not wrong, I guess.” I nervously sip my bourbon. How do I navigate this? Three years in the program and I’ve never had this conversation with anyone. “There was a guy I was partners with. And I didn’t realize what kind of guy he was until it was too late. Now, I’m here.”
“That is awfully vague.”
I hope he isn’t going to pry—
“And I’m sorry he was such a problem for you, but I’m glad you’re here now.” The candlelight catches the warm tones in his espresso brown eyes and casts shadows around his hint of crow’s feet.
I smile. “Me too.” Then, I get up and say, “I should take the dessert out. I like it best near room temperature.”
“I get dessert, too?”
I dip my head into the refrigerator, “Nothing too fancy, just a panna cotta—"
He’s right next to me suddenly. “Thank you, but isn’t there something I can do to help?”
“Me, me, me!” I think to myself. His closeness makes my body hum. I don’t think he can see my nipples in this sweater dress, but I wouldn’t be surprised. They’re hard as rocks from the shivering. I swallow and say, “I’ve got it under control, I promise.”
“You’re used to being in control, aren’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Ran your own business. You’re out here on your own,” he stares into my eyes and my breath catches in my throat. “It can get lonely sometimes. Being alone.”
“I’m not lonely right now.”
He pins an errant curl behind my ear and smiles.
“Neither am I.” Then, Jordan kisses me. His lips are firm, and his kiss is assertive, but not pushy.
Like he’s testing the waters. He pulls away and gives me a look.
I tip my head up to him, and he kisses me again.
This time, there’s no hesitation. His hand caresses the side of my neck and I get chills.
But then the refrigerator beeps. The door is still open, which may have something to do with the chills.
Our kiss stops, and we both smirk. I tell the refrigerator, “So sorry to keep you waiting.” Then, I pull out the panna cotta and berry sauce.
“I think it’s time for me to switch to wine. Would you like some, too?”
“No, thank you, I’ll stick with bourbon for now.”
There’s a swing in my step when I walk to the wine fridge in the pantry. That was a damn fine kiss. Truthfully, I’m not sure I’ve ever been kissed quite like that. My whole body feels warmer, despite the chills he gave me.
When I get back to the table, he says, “I need the restroom—"
“Down the hall—"
He chuckles, “I installed the toilet, Stella.”
“Oh,” I blush, then awkwardly blurt, “Well, good work.”
He smiles, then finds the restroom. I pour merlot into my empty rocks glass and drink it straight away, then pour another one. I need liquid courage to get my nerve up. There are all sorts of reasons not to do this. I could play a drinking game with myself, thinking about why I shouldn’t do this.
He’s my neighbor. Sip. He’s at least ten years older than me. Sip. He would be a link to me. Sip. I’m in Witness Protection. Sip. It’s been over three years since I got laid. Glug.
I pour another glass. When he walks back in, he has another odd look on his face.
I wonder if I keep thinking his unusual expressions are weird, because he’s just an honest man, and I keep looking for hints of dishonesty.
Doesn’t matter. He is handsome and rugged, and I need to get laid.
I stand up and kiss him. But, then he says, “Stella, I didn’t come here for anything more than supper, and I didn’t expect that in the first place, so don’t think—"
“Jordan, all I do is think. Help me stop thinking.”
“How?”
I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him again. He picks me up and carries me upstairs to my bedroom. Then he sets me to my feet and asks, “Are you sure? I know you’ve had more to drink—"
“This house is infested with overthinkers tonight.” I smile and pull my sweater dress off. I hope my blue lace bra and panties are enough to get the point across.
“Well,” he looks me over, “I’m done thinking.
” Then, he kisses me and we both work on his flannel’s buttons.
I giggle into his mouth, as we fumble over getting his clothes off.
I grab his cock, and it’s a little more than proportionate to the rest of his large frame. The skin is soft, but he is very hard.
He kisses his way down my chest and ends up on his knees. My heart beats so fast that I am lightheaded. I unclip my bra, and his tongue twirls around my nipples. I run my fingers through his hair, holding him close. Jordan’s fingers pinch the sides of my panties, but he waits.
“Yes,” I nod.
He pulls them down and I step from them.
He looks up at me with awe. Then, Jordan wraps one thick arm around my thighs, and throws me onto the bed, before he climbs on top of me.
He’s careful not to let his full weight down, but I pull his mouth to mine once more.
He takes my hands and pins them to the bed, and there’s something in his right hand.
My fingers form around it. He asks, “Do you mind?”
I look and it’s a condom. “Not at all.” He must have had it in his pocket this whole time. Maybe I’m easier to read than I think.
I pass it back to him, and he gets the rubber permission slip on.
Just as I think he’s going to thrust into me, he pauses.
He kisses me again, only this time, I’m waiting for him and he knows it.
So he takes his time kissing me. His hands explore my ribs, my tummy, my thighs, my cheek.
His lips trail along my chin, my throat, my sternum.
He’s touching me everywhere, but the usual spots.
It’s like a blur of high school make out sessions, and I’m losing my damn mind. I’m shaking. My moans fill the room, until finally, I beg, “Jordan, please!”
He smirks, then slowly slides into me. I gasp from his girth and he grunts something low and guttural.
Suddenly, his thrusts become fast and deep.
Jordan’s switch is flipped, and he isn’t gentle anymore.
He hikes my hips up against him, until I wrap my legs around him and hang on tight.
I grab onto his ribs for leverage. His cock is almost too much inside me.
He keeps massaging my G spot and his pubic bone rhythmically presses against my clit at this angle.
My body tenses up. Oh my god, am I going to come? And then, my orgasm hits. I cry out wordless nonsense beneath him, amplified by my utter shock. I throb on his cock and he carefully moves my legs from his waist. Then, he rolls over, with me still on him.
But I’m spent and my face rests on his hairy chest. Jordan grabs my hips and thrusts me up and down. I ramble, “Oh god, oh god,” as he makes me pulse against him. I’m so close again, and before I know it, a high pitched keening sound pours from my throat as I come again.
He growls as his body locks up. He hisses, “Close.”
“Yes!” I exhale a roar.
His back arches, and he holds me tight against him as he comes. Jordan pets my hair, then kisses the top of my head. He carefully rolls me from him, and I fall asleep, spooned in his embrace.