She does, and as I slide the tank down her lean arms, I press a quick kiss to each of her nipples before they disappear beneath her shirt. Once I’ve zipped and buttoned, I rest my hand on her thigh, fingers stroking her leg over the denim.
“I’d like to make you cum, Beck,” I tell her because it feels like a huge dick move to have her suck me off and have me… what, suck on her tits and go home? “Please,” I add, because the more time that passes that she hasn’t cum, the worse I feel.
Her smile is one meant to let me down easily, and my chest aches at the sight. My fingers curl deeper into her leg. “I’m not ready for that yet,” she says quietly, her eyes holding mine.
Before I can make her cum, she says, “Let’s eat. I made one of your childhood favorites.”
Smiling, I try to remember all the things I’d told her I loved eating as a kid. Over the last week we’d talked on the phone in the evenings and gotten to know more odds and ends about each other. One of the things I’d told her was that lasagna was a childhood favorite of mine.
She remembered and made it.
Once she turns the oven off, I grab the mitts from the counter and take it out. The pan is heavy with sauce and cheese bubbling over the edges. It smells like fucking heaven as I slide it onto the charger in the center of the table.
I shuck off the mitts and can’t resist looping my arms around her waist after she lowers two plates to the table. I bring her body close to mine and stare down at her mouth. “ You gave me head and made me lasagna, and I haven’t done anything for you.”
She kisses me, short but hot. “I don’t need you to do anything for me.”
“Iwantto do something for you.”Everything, I think to myself.
“You can sit and eat, and we can talk. That’s what I want.”
We discuss vacations (both of us agreeing we’re not the types to need a strict schedule because vacation should be relaxing, not organized), she tells me she played the piano for seven years, and I tell her I played the recorder in third grade music class. I share with her that my dad used to have a boat named the Knot Sure at which point she tells me she gets seasick. When she was seven, Carl let go of her waist at horseback riding lessons and she fell off, earning her six stitches in her left eyebrow when she fell onto a rock in the ground. I tell her that my favorite book isAll Quiet on the Western Front, and that I enjoy war documentaries. She tells me she likes cooking shows and long walks. I mention that I went running with Miller once, and she tells me she tried barre with Goldie. By the time we’re ending our debate on the blue and black versus white and gold optical illusion dress from a few years back, we’ve collectively finished the green salad, eaten half the lasagna, (that was mostly me) and it’s nearly eleven at night.
Refusing to leave before I help clean up, we do dishes side by side, bubbles foaming up to our elbows. We’re silent, but it’s comfortable, and I bump her hip playfully once when we both reach for the same spoon underwater. When everything is done, she walks me to her door, where I cradle her jaw in my hands and devour her lips in a slow, passionate, intentional kiss.
Crickets chirp from the lawn, and a tree sways from a cool, night breeze that drifts through. Our eyes are locked together, but when she smiles, I laugh, and the dense spell is broken.
I can feel how easily we could get lost in each other.
Before I let that happen, there are things she needs to know about me. Except now isn’t the time.
We kiss. “I can’t wait to see you again.” I take a few steps down on her porch. “Tomorrow?”
She nods. “Sure. I’m going to the studio in the morning so… same time?”
I nod. “Perfect.”
“Bye, Beau.”
The moonlight streaks her face. It’s official, the most beautiful woman alive gave me head tonight.
Despite all that’s ahead of me, I actually feel lucky now. All because of her.
14
Beck
His tongue drags over my flesh, lapping the stream of milk, and I come undone completely.
“His wood is really great.”
Goldie takes a sip of her latte. Despite the fact I have a coffee maker, we stopped at the Wilting Daisy on the way to the studio. Turns out, my studio is only a five-minute walk from Oakcreek’s most popular bakery. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.
“And I care about that because?”
I blink. “Well, because a fair businessman is always a good thing. Fair in one aspect means he’s probably fair in others,” I reason aloud, finding everything I’m saying to be incredibly boring when it comes to pursuing a partner. I mean of course, Goldie needs someone fair, but who the hell wants their “how we met” story to include “because he’s a fair businessman, I gave him a chance”? Um, no one.
Luckily, she’s so disinterested in my suggestion that she waves me off easily. “I’m not going to be hooked up with the guy who’s replacing your floors in the studio, Beck. I’m not desperate.”