Chapter 17 Dax
dax
“Let’s hope this isn’t one of the worst decisions I’ve ever made,” I mumble to myself as I navigate toward Clementine’s house.
I picked up Merry Mintmas lattes at the cafe and purposefully avoided driving by the shop.
I should at least text Meredith I’ll be late.
Would be the decent thing to do. She might not ask why I’m late—been there, done that—but she’ll ask what time I’m coming in, for which I don’t have an answer.
Best case: a few hours.
Worst case: fifteen minutes.
I hope it’s not the worst case, but I can’t predict how she’ll react to my unexpected arrival at her doorstep. Because the cup of coffee is my in for more.
I haven’t been able to eradicate her “what I’m really in need of is an orgasm provided by someone else” from my head. While not convinced she was completely serious, I’m not convinced she wasn’t. If it’s what she wants, I’ll happily deliver. Get it out of my system if only as a service to her.
Come to think of it, there was no talk of the other person also having an orgasm, something I’m only considering now as I pull into her driveway, killing the engine behind her van.
Am I prepared to give and not receive if she doesn’t immediately kick me out?
As I’m contemplating my next move, she steps onto the porch, her hair tangled in a messy bun on the top of her head. I’m too far away to notice if she’s wearing makeup or not, but I can’t miss the bewildered expression on her face.
Too late to back down now.
I shoot a quick text to Meredith, pocketing my phone to check for messages later. I grab the two cups of coffee and make my way out of the truck and up the walkway.
“Dax, hi?” she asks. Of course, she’s confused. It’s a random Monday morning, and I’m showing up at nearly the ass crack of dawn out of the blue. I’d be more surprised if she weren’t confused.
“Hey. I come bearing the gift of a Merry Mintmas.” Standing at the bottom of her steps, I don’t miss the way her eyes light up with my comment, nor the way her tongue licks the seam of her lips.
“What’s the occasion?” She crosses her arms over her chest and leans up against the doorjamb.
“Monday.”
Her eyes narrow, and I prepare to be called out on my bullshit. Instead, she stupefies me. “Valid. Mondays suck, and it’s already been a day.”
I ascend the steps, handing over a cup of the magical potion. “This won’t cure everything, but it’s a good start.”
She makes quick work of taking a small sip. It’s probably too hot to gulp, but a small taste should do the trick.
Her eyes flutter closed, and an exhale releases. “Fuck, that is some good stuff,” she declares, opening her eyes, her gaze focused on me. It’s unreadable. “I don’t know whether to thank you or hate you for this.”
“It can be both. You can thank me for the kind gesture but hate that you love it so much.” She’s speechless at my words, so I prattle on. “I have a proposition for you. Are you busy?”
“It’s not like I’m going to sit on my couch and eat bonbons all day, but my schedule isn’t insane today.
Not yet anyway. Despite how it started with Jace’s early wake-up, besides the grocery store, two loads of laundry, and finishing a client’s proposal, there seems to be some downtime available. What did you have in mind?”
“Providing you with an orgasm.”
Perhaps I should have waited until she didn’t have a sip of drink in her mouth, but it’s too late now. Thankfully, I’m to the side of the spray.
Clementine spews the liquid in front of her, sputtering and coughing while it hits the porch floor. Her eyes are wide, and when she gathers her wits, she says, “Damn you making me waste delicious coffee. For sure, I hate you now.”
I hold mine out to her. “Take two sips as payback.” She eyes my cup like it’s poison. “I promise they’re the same. Want me to take a sip first?”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m hesitating. I’m worried you’re trying to poison me.”
“If not that, then what?”
Her eyes blink in slow succession, staring at me like I’ve grown another head.
She opens her mouth, but shuts it almost immediately.
Nervously, she looks around, scanning the nearby area.
“Come inside,” she hisses, attacking my arm with her fingers, tugging when I don’t move fast enough.
She’s frazzled, and I’m not sure I like that I’m the cause.
I didn’t come here to upset her. I came to help her.
Clementine slams the door once we’re both inside, slumping against it, her chest heaving as if she ran a marathon. “Are you crazy?”
“No?” I answer with a question.
“If not, why are you on my porch shouting about providing orgasms?”
“I didn’t shout.”
“Not the point,” she yells, getting more worked up. Except as I take her in more astutely, she’s not upset so much as turned on.
This I can work with.
I set my coffee cup down on the table, remove her cup from her tight grip, placing it down next to mine, and crowd her personal space. Her jaw works side to side as she stares up at me, her eyes open wide.
“Do you not want an orgasm?” I fling into the air, wondering what she’ll volley back with.
When she remains silent, I press, “You said you had some free time. How much time are we talking? Enough for foreplay and the main event or a quickie? I’m good with either, just need to get into the right mindset.
” Again, her jaw drops, but no sounds emerge.
Not even a squeal of surprise. I step closer, my finger twirling in the one tendril of hair not wrapped in the bun.
“If this isn’t something you want, I can leave. ”
“No.”
I quirk a brow. “No, it’s not something you want, or no, I shouldn’t leave?”
An internal battle rages behind her eyes, something I’m not privy to.
I don’t know which side of the debate she’ll land until she speaks.
I’m prepared for either outcome, but I’d much prefer to stay and dole out an orgasm.
But if she doesn’t want this—I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t—I’ll respect her decision and leave.
I haven’t had time to be all worked up and turned on, though it won’t take me long.
After several minutes, Clementine blows out a breath, her eyes closing with the action. “No, you shouldn’t leave.”
Hallelujah, my insides rejoice.
Before I confirm, I wait for her to open her eyes.
I need to know she’s truly okay with this before I move forward.
After what feels like forever, I’m staring into her emerald eyes.
This close up, I’ve got an unfettered view of her freckles splashed across her face, a pattern of differing shades and sizes.
“I’ll stay. Should I provide you with an orgasm? ”
“That is what you came for?” she sasses.
“Indeed.”
“I’m not sure this is a good idea.” She mentioned something similar yesterday. I’m not sure I agree.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s simply a means to an end. One friend helping another.”
“Like friends with bennies?” There’s a new hopefulness in her tone.
I’m surprised she went there. I’m offering her one orgasm, not that I’d turn down more, but have I indicated I wanted more than today?
“I suppose if there were repeat performances, it would amount to that. How about we start with one and see how you feel after it?”
“I don’t have condoms.”
That settles the how.
I tap my pocket. “I came prepared.”
“Guess you’re serious about this.”
“Have I implied otherwise?”
“Nope. My brain’s trying to make sense of it all.”
I scratch my head. “If memory serves, you’re the one who asked for this. I’m going along with your request.”
“I didn’t ask you for an orgasm. I said I needed an orgasm provided by someone else.”
“And yet,” I begin, running my hand down her jaw, eliciting a hitch in her breath, “you said it in front of me. Was I supposed to assume you wanted some other random guy to give it to you?” The thought leaves me rattled.
Once I decided this, I was all in. The only way I’d stop is if she told me no. Which she hasn’t done.
Nor will she, based on how affected and worked up she is. If she shuts this down now, she’s got the willpower of . . . someone who has superhuman willpower.
Something shifts in her gaze. “It’s um, well, been a long time for me. And I wasn’t quite prepared for you today, so it’s kinda a mess down there. If you catch my drift.” She picks at the skin next to her thumbnail.
“I’m cool if you want to take the time to make it more presentable, or I’m cool with you not.
If it doesn’t impede my ability to put my cock in your pussy, I’m not concerned with how it looks.
But if it will make you feel better, I don’t mind waiting.
I’ve got the time. It’s you that’s on a time crunch.
” She still hasn’t said exactly how long she has for this.
She stares off at something behind me. I wait her out. “I don’t have the desire to make it pretty. If you don’t mind and won’t judge me for it . . .” She trails off, her gaze locking with mine.
I hold up my hands. “Not my style. Providing the orgasm is not dependent on the state of your lady parts.” A chuckle tumbles from me. “Same goes for me. No judging my word choices.”
“Fair. Let’s take this to the bedroom.”
Once my boots are off, I waste not even a second following her down the hall. I’ve never seen her bedroom. Every time I’ve been here, the door’s been closed.
She stops at the door, facing my way. “It’s messier than the rest of the house. Not dirty—I clean up the messes—but it’s not what you’d call tidy. Is that going to bother you?”
“Will it impede my ability to put my cock in your pussy?”
She giggles. I can’t tell if it’s the words themselves or because I’ve used it again. “No. The unmade bed has clean-ish sheets.”
“Then let’s proceed.”
She lets out the breath she was holding and reaches behind her to twist the knob and open the door. My vision doesn’t deter from Clementine, ignoring the sights in the room, focused on her stepping into it. She’s all I see.
It’s hard not to stare at her allure. How natural beauty radiates from her. The green eyes, the freckles on her ivory complexion, the apple cheeks. She’s the epitome of gorgeous.
If I tell her that, she’d probably laugh it off, possibly even stop this. I keep my compliments to myself. There will be a more opportune time to share.
Clementine climbs onto the bed, pushing to her knees, leveling our faces. “I’m pretending this isn’t weird.”
“Why is this weird for you?” I want her at ease. She’ll get more out of it if she’s comfortable and not stuck in her head about the oddity of it.
“How is it not weird for you?” she tosses back. The moment realization settles in, her expression falters. “Oh.”
“What’s the ‘oh’ for?” I eliminate the small space between us, laying my hands on her waist.
“You probably have women throwing themselves at you, begging for orgasms on the regular.”
“Hardly.” My answer expels without me even processing it.
Have I had my share of women? Yes. I’m a single guy with needs.
Do I have a constant parade of women throwing themselves at me? Sometimes. In the past few years, I’ve been more picky, more selective of who I sleep with. If there’s no connection, no initial spark, I don’t give in to my desires or theirs simply for a romp in the sack. I have higher standards.
“But you’ve done this before?”
“Had sex?” I squeal, the question so shocking, my tone is pitchy.
Clementine rolls her eyes, and she tries to wiggle out of my grip, but I hold tighter. “A casual hookup. To provide orgasms.”
“Yes. Haven’t you?”
“How do you think Atlas got here?” Her eyes widen, and she clamps her hand across her mouth. “Maybe forget I said that.” The outcome is more revealing than the timeframe. “I’m on birth control, but we still need condoms.”
I remove the box from my pocket. “Got us protected.” It’s such a terrible pun, but she doesn’t call me out on it, which I’m thankful for. “It’s only weird if you make it weird, Clementine.”
Her head tilts to the right. “Why do you always use my full name?”
“I didn’t realize I did.”
She nods, her tongue peeking from her mouth and licking her bottom lip. “I like it from you.”
I knead her skin with my fingers. “Do you?”
“Yeah. It rolls off your tongue nicely, and it’s easy on the ears." If not for her stoic expression, I’d think she was bullshitting me. But since she’s not, I guess I’ll be more conscious of it.
I snake both hands under her oversized sweatshirt to meet her bare skin. Clementine sucks in a breath at the action. “May I?” I whisper, fingering the hem, asking for permission.
She doesn’t hesitate. “Yep.” Her permission granted, I raise the shirt over her head, leaving her upper half in a sports bra. “Ah, of course I’m wearing the crappiest of bras.” She tries to cover her breasts, but I gently cuff her wrists, moving her arms away.
“It’s coming off anyway. Who cares?”
Her brows crease. “Tell me you’re always this relaxed about things.”
I shrug a shoulder, removing her bra. “When the details don’t matter, I’m not overly concerned.
It’s when they do that I am.” My fingers slide under the bra, grazing the sides of her boobs.
“I’d rather focus on what’s underneath.” Her vision latches onto mine.
This time, she raises her arms for me, and I discard the bra.
When I get my first look at her ample breasts, the pink around the nipples, my tongue won’t stay in my mouth. Thankfully, it behaves enough not to reach out and lick or suck without consent.
She lets me stare for a length of time, not rushing me or trying to move things along, getting a rise from my admiration of her body, confirmed when she speaks, “It feels good to have someone notice them for a change.”
I meet her eyes, a story there, one I won’t get now.
Or possibly ever.
This morning, coming over here and demanding she let me give her an orgasm sounded like an awesome plan.
Right about now, I’m wishing I hadn’t seen her naked.
Because once with Clementine Powell isn’t going to satiate my need for her.