2. Vanessa
Chapter 2
Vanessa
That little turd!
“Stanley Alexander!” I look around the mud room absolutely horrified. There is cat litter everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. It resembles the news videos of what happens when a wind storm comes through.
Signing, I walk to the cabinet in the corner, open it, and pull out the broom and dustpan. This is not the first time this has happened, but it isn’t something that happens all that often. He really is a good cat, even if he’s a terror to poor Dean.
My cat and boyfriend are fighting for the same prize: me. I love them both so they’ll just have to work out their own crap.
Thanks to his mess, I have to change his water, dump the last little bit of his dry food, and completely clean the entire room. Granted, it’s a large mud room, but there isn’t much floor space. The sink and cabinets take up one entire wall. There’s a bench just inside the back door, where we sit to change shoes out. Or clothes if we get stuck in a downpour, which has happened more than once. It also allows us to change after going out to the garden and barn. We’re trying to get it all fixed up so we can start to introduce animals to the property.
I want some chickens, maybe a couple of goats and a horse or two. Growing up I’d had all of that and then some. I love animals as much as I love books. When Dean bought this property, it had been for the house. The old ranch house is large, with hardwood floors throughout and the biggest porch I’ve ever seen. It sits off the road a half a mile. The nearest neighbor is a mile up the road, and yet, it’s not that far from town. All in all, it’s the perfect place to settle down.
I shut the room off to the kitchen, not wanting the dust of the litter to flow out into my nice, clean kitchen. If Stanley needs to come in, he can use the dog-sized cat door. You heard that right.
My Stanley is a big boy. He has Maine Coon in him, so he stands about ten inches high, weighs a solid thirteen pounds, and has enough fur on him to make sure I have to dust every other day and the vacuums have to run twice a day. His black and dark gray fur has stripes in it. It’s super thick too. His green eyes and small pointed ears just add to his cuteness.
It’s almost too hard to stay mad at him for making a mess.
Almost.
My nose wrinkles at the mess before me. I get to work, sweeping up all of the cat litter. It’s a fine sand-like litter, expensive, but a bag lasts a lot longer than one would think it does. And the best part, there’s no smelly cat-waste smell. Seriously. I love it. Until I have to clean up a mess like this.
“Move it, buster.” I wiggle my fingers in front of Stanley, his whiskers twitching as I do. He’s on my desk, batting at my fingers as I move the mouse back and forth. “Hey, I have to pay bills; you’re not making this an easy task.” I release it long enough to scoop him up. He goes limp as soon as I do. I lay him over my shoulder, my left hand scratching his back as I go back to what I’d been doing.
This cat has a purr that is tiger-sized. The rumble is soothing. I rest my head against him as I finish. With the receipt saved to my laptop, I sit back and reposition the big cat. His eyes close as I rub his belly.
“You’re spoiled rotten. You know that?”
I only have myself to blame for that.
My phone buzzes with an incoming message from Dean.
Dean: Heading home. Do we need anything?
Ness: No, we’re good. Dinner is in the crockpot.
Dean: See you in fifteen then.
Ness: Be safe. Love you!
Dean: Love you more.
Smiling, I get up from the chair and go into the living room. I plop Stanley on the couch, on his blanket, and pad off into the kitchen. I wash my hands and arms, then move to the opposite counter. It’s a hot day today, so I hadn’t felt like turning on the stove. The crock pot is a total life-saver in the summer.
I open the lid and inhale the scent of the cheesy chicken taco mix. Once the chicken breasts were cooked, I’ll shred them. I’d added a pack of taco seasoning, cream cheese, mild cheddar, and a little sour cream. Add this to flour tortillas and you have a meal fit for a king. Or for us at least. It’s a favorite for sure. Tomorrow’s dinner is already put together and in the fridge. I’ll add it to the crockpot in the morning and let it cook on low all day. By the time we get home, it will be ready. Pot roast with potatoes and carrots. With a side of rice and butter beans.
My stomach takes that moment to growl, loudly. Snorting, amused with myself, I head to the cabinet and pull down plates. I have the silverware on the counter with the glasses already. I’m no Suzy homemaker, but I passed the test, I guess. Dean doesn’t complain.
We don’t share normal home roles. I’m not the cleaner, washer, or floor scrubber. Though I do those things, he does as well. We share everything. I do most of the cooking during the week because I get home well before he does. He may not have classes every afternoon, but as a professor, he has open office hours for the kids that need help or more understanding of his course. Faculty meetings. Phone calls to make, papers to grade, projects to look over. The sky's the limit there.
My schedule is a little more lax than that. I usually go off by 4:00 pm or 4:30 pm. That means I’m home and ready to do what needs to be done by 5:00 pm. If that means I’m making dinner or finishing up what’s left after the crockpot cooks it, then so be it. We both have to eat, so why not?
On the weekends, Dean takes over the kitchen. That means I get a hot breakfast, we usually snack for lunch or go out, and then he will pull out the grill for dinner time.
If you can find a man who can cook, and I mean can cook, then you are one lucky, lucky person. Especially when he wears an apron that says “Kiss the Cook & Pass the Bacon.”
I’d found it in a thrift shop a few years ago and couldn’t not get it for him. He’s a good sport and always wears it, sans a shirt so…even better.
Especially when the sun is bright in the sky and he glistens. Oh yeah, the man’s not shy about showing off the muscles he works hard to maintain.
My favorite part of the year are the nights where it isn’t hotter than Satan’s ball sack, so we can sit out on the covered, screened-in porch and enjoy the sounds of nature. Watch the sun go down from the swing and cuddle. The stars are always so much brighter out here where there are no buildings to hide the view.
I have the table set, the plates ready to be fixed, and the crockpot turned off by the time he comes in the back door.
“You won’t believe what I?—”
He stops in the doorway and tilts his head in my direction.
I turn, raising a brow at the look on his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
I look down at myself. Oh yeah. After my shower earlier, I’d tossed on one of his t-shirts and a pair of underwear but nothing else. It’s hot, and I just didn’t care. I’m going anywhere else nor am I expecting anyone to drop by.
“If you want to clean up, dinner is ready.”
I watch him stalk forward, his eyes taking me in. I know that gaze. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and grin to myself. As he comes for me, I take off running, dodging around the counter out of his reach. With a squeal, I race into the living room, take the corner to head for the staircase, but he outsmarts me. He’s just there. His arm goes around my waist as he scoops me up and tosses me over his shoulder.
I try to protest, but that quickly stops when his hand comes down across my exposed backside.
“You know what happens when you run from me, love.”
Duh! Why does he think I ran? Does the man know nothing?
His hand comes down against my cheeks again, the sting pulling a moan from me. “Answer me.”
God, I love that tone. I’m in for it. I have to hold out though. The third swat on my butt has a gasp escaping me.
“Yes, sir,” I pant out the words.
He drops me to the bed where I bounce slightly. He shuts the door and orders, “Clothes off.” He disappears into the bathroom, and when he comes back out, I’m lying on the bed, naked, ready for his punishment.
I lick my lips when he comes out, his almost naked body for my viewing pleasure. His boxers are tented so the desire in his eyes is not to be ignored. He wants me right now as much as I want him.
He says nothing as he moves around to the nightstand, pulls out the purple box in there. I have to bite back a moan. That box holds a torture devise that will be my undoing. He drops it on the bed beside me and moves around, his hands skimming up my legs, parting my thighs before he pulls me to the edge of the bed. There will be no fanfare right now. He—well we—like it hard, fast, and orgasmic. The torture devise—that will extend the fun of the night. Thank God it’s Friday and I don’t have to get up in the morning to be functional.
“You were a naughty girl,” he says, teasing his fingers across my inner thighs.
I suck in a deep breath, my pussy already throbbing, the anticipation of his touch growing. He knows just how to work me up to the point of insanity without more than a gentle touch. When he does touch me, it won’t take much to come undone for him.
“Should I punish you?”
“Yes, sir.” I don’t hesitate. His ‘punishment’ is the most delicious thing he can ever do to me. And he knows it.
I’ve never had another person touch me the way he does. It’s been like this from day one. I never expected running into a complete stranger with an arm full of books would lead to this place. Now. Here with him. Over the last two years, it’s been one growing experience after another. With the two of us growing as people. As individuals and as a couple.
It doesn’t take him long before his finger slides through my soaked folds. I know not to move, but I can’t help it. The jolt of pleasure has my heartbeat doubling. His finger stills, just shy of where I need him to touch. A whimper escapes before I can clamp it down.
“I’m starving,” he states, dropping to his knees only to kiss along my thighs, making sure he teases me to the point of begging. I won’t beg, he won’t get me to that point, not yet. I have to stay strong.
Who am I kidding? I am his willing puppet, and he knows it. His teeth nip at the skin of my thighs, just enough to make me pant as my need for his touch—all of him—takes over. I break at the briefest touch of his lips against my core.
“Please…Dean, please.”
His lips brush my core again, and I’m lost. His tongue darts out, teasing, caressing. My fingers bury themselves in the bedding as he adds pressure to my clit. That bundle of nerves is so sensitive, I lose my breath as the sensations run through my entire body. Bringing all of me to life.
“Dean…”
His fingers fill me, curling in just the right spot to bring the orgasm I’ve been trying t0 hold off to the forefront.
“Good girl. Come for me, Ness.”
The tidal wave hits me hard. My hips buck, my back arching as the sensations take over. My vision dims as my eyes roll back. This. This is the reason that man is a legend in the bedroom.
Before him, I’d never had a real orgasm. I could fake it with the best of them. With him, there’s no need. Ever.
He has a magic mouth and magic fingers that play me like a fine-tuned instrument.
One made just for him.