Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Lot
Does this mean you missed me.
“You’re late,” my father grumbles.
“I’m right on time.”
“Your mother said to expect you at nine thirty. It’s nine forty-one.”
“I didn’t see Mom’s message that you were expecting me that early.” Because I was naked in Dice’s bed with his face between my legs and definitely not thinking about checking texts. Or thinking, period. Instead, three orgasms later and I was dead. That’s never happened to me before.
My father lets out a long, huffy breath—performative—the kind that digs under my skin. “I still have to get in and out of the car, but you don’t think ahead.”
“Maurice,” I say as I open the passenger door for him, “unless you want to be left standing on this curb, stop criticizing and work with me.”
He sniffs the air. “Are you wearing men’s cologne? Why must you reject everything that’s feminine?”
Jesus. If he only knew why I smell like that. I grind down the urge to snap back at his sexist comment. “Bend your good knee, and I’ll slide this one inside.”
“Be careful.”
“I am.”
“You’re not.”
I’m sweating with forced patience, ready to drop this man. After several awkward angles, a near miss with the doorframe, and one theatrical grunt, I finally get him buckled in and slam the door.
He could test a saint, and I’m not one. I toss his cane into the back, slide behind the wheel, and fasten my seat belt.
“You good?” I ask.
“No, Friday be on time.”
Grant me the serenity… I close my eyes for a beat and breathe. In through the nose. Out through clenched teeth. Then I start the engine and pull away from the house.
“You didn’t put on your indicator.”
“There was no one on the street.”
“You don’t know what’s coming. It should be automatic. Not when you feel like it.”
I switch on the radio and crank up the volume.
“Turn that down. I can’t talk over the noise.”
“Exactly.”
He folds his arms. Both of us stewing.
Yep. Mom said this would be nice.
We arrive at the physio clinic right at ten, without killing each other. I get him signed in and fill out the forms. The wait is twenty minutes, which he complains about the whole time. Finally, a short, friendly woman around my age comes out for him.
“Mr. Webber?” She smiles. “I’m Asha.”
“I’ve been waiting for nearly half an hour.”
“I’m so sorry. We had a situation that pushed us off schedule. But it won’t cut into your session.”
“No one respects time anymore,” he huffs.
I issue her a silent apology behind his back. She smiles, letting me know she’s used to it.
“I understand your frustration,” I hear her say as she leads him away on his cane.
How can Mom say we’re anything alike? That’s ridiculous.
I pick up my phone and text Dice to check on how he’s managing.
Still alive?
You haven’t destroyed me yet.
I meant Queenie.
I had her eating out of my palm. Literally. She liked my scrambled eggs.
Are you still nuking them?
Yep.
I thought she had better taste.
You used to like my nuked eggs and boxed mac & cheese.
*Used to* being the key words. I’m going to teach you a few things.
Oh yeah?
Cooking. Get your mind out of the gutter.
Says the woman who got hers.
Next time don’t serve me a strong drink.
Is that what you’re going with?
Yep.
How’re things with Maurice?
He’s impossible as usual.
You okay?
I’m resigned to never having a good relationship with him. But for Mom, I’m trying not to make it worse.
You sure hanging out with me and changing up his logo without his permission accomplishes that?
Whatever. Shirts will be ready this Thursday. And don’t forget I want to do something funky for your parties.
Mock up some concepts.
Ok. I’ll get a better feel after my DJ debut on Friday.
If you’re serious about that you’re gonna need a refresher.
Then I’ll show you how to cook something simple and you show me how to spin vinyl again.
A game of show me yours and I’ll show you mine. I’m there.
I roll my eyes, but I honestly can’t wait for another naked encounter with Dice. And this time I won’t fall asleep.
Thanks again for watching Queenie and helping me out.
I was very happy to *help* you out.
Later, Jones.
Later, Web.
It’s almost one o’clock when I get Maurice home.
He had me driving all over town on errands.
Picking up a new hose for the lawn when spring hasn’t even sprung, paint to touch up the side of the house when he’s nowhere near ready to get on a ladder, shaving cream from the drugstore, and clam chowder from The Shipmate.
Then he wanted me to make him a sandwich to go with his soup.
Naturally, he complained that I used too much mustard.
I’m all too ready to hand him over to my mom when she arrives.
“How was it with your father?”
“Just peachy.”
She frowns but doesn’t press me. Daytime lipstick and perfume again. I’m not sure what to make of it. But we’ll have a chance to talk more over dinner tomorrow.
When I reach Dice’s, finding him a smooth dark cure for a bad day, the second the door shuts behind us, I push him up against the oak wood. A surprised oof leaves his chest.
“Planning an attack?” He catches me by the hips.
“Mm-hmm. The good kind.” I kiss his neck and softly suck his lemon-scented throat.
“Does this mean you missed me?”
“No,” I say and fondle his hard cock through his joggers. “Does this mean you missed me?”
“Fuck yes,” he exhales a harsh breath, his eyes hot, his thumbs brushing over my jaw, lifting my face for a kiss that could set Bayside on fire.
I push his shirt up and drag my mouth down his inked chest and the ridges of his abs to that delectable V.
I sink to my knees on the front mat and press my face into his stomach.
The muscles flex beneath my touch and a vibration ripples through his body.
I lower the waist of his sweatpants to give me greater access and find him commando.
I look up at him as I take his audacious cock in both hands.
I kiss the tip, and groaning, his head thunks against the door.
I fist the root and take him into my mouth.
“Ahh. Fuck, Lot.”
His hands move to my hair, curling around my locs, not pulling, just finding purchase. I slide my tongue over the wide crown before I hollow my cheeks and suck him in deeper, drawing on him rhythmically, tasting the first salty spurt of pre-cum.
He makes a sound of sweet torture, fighting for breath. “Just like that. Your mouth… fuck, yes.”
Aroused by his pleasure, I squirm and squeeze my legs, bobbing my head faster.
I love the way he feels. Thick corded veins, silky smooth skin, steely hardness.
The way his touch grows rougher the more lust takes over.
Tugging on my locs now, a soft bite of pain has me moaning.
I slide him in and out of my mouth and frantically jack him off with one hand, stroking and rolling his heavy sac with the other.
He thrusts his hips, stripped down to the level of base need, where the mind goes hazy and the vital urge to climax is all that matters.
“Lot.” My name is a gut-deep rasp. “I’m gonna come.”
Fair warning, but I don’t need it. I want this.
I want to make him unravel. I keep my lips and hand wrapped around him as he fucks my mouth with wild abandon.
Mindless in his pleasure, cursing, moaning, ragged breaths.
Then a hard shudder, followed by a rumbled sound of ecstasy…
just before he spills against my tongue and fills my mouth.
I stay with him until I’ve wrung out every last drop, swallowing and licking him clean. When I release him, his eyes are at half-mast, and he’s slumped against the door. Not gonna lie, it’s gratifying to know I wrecked him.
I pull up his pants, and he reaches for my hand, bringing me to my feet.
“I think I’m in love,” he says, his voice lazy and loose.
“You’re not. That’s just your post-orgasm high talking. You’ll be fine in a few minutes.”
I move away. How many times has Dice tossed around the L-word like it doesn’t cost a thing?
“Hey.” He catches my fingers before I can get far. “What just happened?”
“I blew your mind.”
“You did. But not that.” His tone shifts, now laced with concern. His eyes search mine. “You seem pissed.”
“I’m not pissed. Enjoy the high, Jones. I gotta go.”
I spot Queenie hiding under the couch. All that moaning and groaning must’ve driven her into exile. I coax her out with a treat.
“I’ll just grab her stuff,” I say. “Don’t wanna be in your way while you get ready for work.”
“You’re not in my way.” He pauses. “I want to get you off too.”
“No need. You took real good care of me last night.”
“I’m not keeping score, Web,” he says, a little agitated.
“I know. I didn’t mean it that way.” I pack up Queenie’s snacks.
“Why are you in a rush to go?”
“I’ve got a client project that’s due. I probably won’t make it to Docks tonight.”
“Since Queenie’s stuff’s already here,” he says, “why don’t you grab some clothes and stay the night?”
“You want me to stay another night?”
“Yeah. We’ll hang out when I get home. It’s not that deep, Lot.”
“You’re right,” I say, keeping my tone breezy, matching his casual vibe.
I’m not that same girl I used to be, holding onto any romantic illusions. Sex and hanging out—those are the rules.
And I intend to stick to them.