Frank goes to his room to sleep it off. He tries to forget that his office has been trashed, his car vandalized and that there’s a dead man at the bottom of his cliff, the victim of another dangerous fall.
She giggled as he planted his face against her belly, holding her close. “You went to bed and woke up with the same thought.”
“It’s a good thought. Best I’ve had in ages.” His voice was muffled by her clothing. “In fact, it’s such a good idea, it’s been on my mind since we met.”
“You’re such a guy!” She shoved him playfully away.
Frank flopped on his bed, arms spreadeagled. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Not from my perspective. As a guy, I can think about sex a hundred times a day if I want. I can fantasize about a dozen different women—or one—very special one. I can even speak about sex on occasion, because I’m a guy—we can’t help it. We’ve got testosterone out the nads, making us horny bastards. But you know what?”
His hand grasped hers, pulling her to the bed. She sat when her knees gave. Frank sat up, putting his arms around her.
“That same stuff, all those things that women pretend disgusts them, makes them weak.” His lips brushed her ear, his breath hot on her skin, smelling faintly of bourbon. “And eventually, if we play it right, the one, perfect woman—says yes. . . .”
His lips familiarized themselves with her neck, lips and ears. His hands rambled over her body, eventually settling just under her breasts, the tips of his fingers teasing the very outer aspect of her firm, round flesh.
Marka shivered, moaning slightly as he feasted on her neck and ears. His hands moved slowly upward, unashamed, confident.
“Say yes,” he whispered. “Please, say yes.”
“I brought you dinner,” she said, trying hard to think straight.
“I don’t want dinner. I’m starving. . . .”
“Then you need to eat.”
“I’m not hungry for food.” His mouth on hers prevented an answer.
Marka knew she had to stop him before they went too far. As much as she wanted to be with him, she didn’t want it under these circumstances. She wanted it to be perfect, planned, not the churlish humping that was likely to take place if she let him have his way.
With a concerted effort, she pushed him away. The groan that rumbled in his chest rivaled most zombie movies. It was more like the roar of a super tornado.
“I’m sorry,” she replied. “Not like this. When it’s right, and you haven’t been drinking.”
He rubbed his face vigorously, yawning loudly. “You’re right. God, I hate that you’re right!”
“Let it happen,” she said gently. “Don’t force it. It’s a sure thing. The timing’s not right yet.”
“I need a quick shower and a change of clothing. This suit’s gonna need the cleaner’s.”
“I’ll set out dinner while you get cleaned up.”
He noticed she wasn’t wearing the same outfit she’d had on earlier. She’d changed into plum colored yoga pants and a form fitting, long sleeved, black T-shirt. A matching plum sweater hung from her shoulders, the sleeves shoved up to her elbows. If he didn’t miss his bet, she wasn’t wearing a bra. Indulging himself for a moment, he let his eyes rest on her full, round breasts before digging his jeans and shirt out of the bag along with clean boxers.
“Be right out,” he mumbled as he passed her in the doorway.
The hot water stung his face, effectively waking him. He bathed quickly and dressed in his favorite jeans. He’d had them for years and they fit just right, not too snug, well faded on the knees, ass and zipper. They were comforting, like an old friend.
He draped his T-shirt over his shoulder as he padded barefoot into the foyer. Marka was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on their meal. She didn’t hear him approach. He put his hands around her waist, kissing her neck. She jumped, squeaking in surprise as he continued to kiss her. Frank turned her to face him, pulling her chest to his.
Marka ran her hands up his bare back, breathing in his scent. There was something about freshly bathed man that made her dizzy with desire. Even the most annoying man became almost irresistible when he just came out of the shower. The fact that Frank was muscular and good looking, as well as the nicest man she’d ever met, made it that much headier a brew. Her knees and her resolve weakened as he continued to kiss her.
Too soon, he moved away from her, inhaling deeply. “Something smells almost as good as you do. What is that?”
“Homemade lasagna. I put it together this afternoon with the help of my Alzheimer’s group. We made two, one for them to share and a smaller one for us.”
“Cool. . . . Thought we were doing teriyaki pork?”
“Changed my mind. I’ve got garlic bread in the oven, also made with their help. It’s best with Chianti. . . .”
“Desert’s a surprise.”
“There’s only one thing I want for desert,” he replied as she bent over to pull the garlic bread out of the oven. “And it’s not much of a surprise.”
© Dellani Oakes