All the Waters of the Earth (Giving You ... #3) (8 page)

“A really long while,” I whispered.

Then he said, “So. Your turn first.”

And then my heart stopped.

I’d previously written lines about a heroine almost coming from words alone and it was bullshit, right?  But I almost came from his words alone.

He leaned over and unbuckled one of my shoes and then the other. Gently, sensuously, he traced his fingers up my legs, which was not a far journey, and hooked his index fingers into my lacy panties, tugging them off, exposing my neatly waxed landing strip. And his eyes got even bigger, which was adorable. I reached behind me and unhooked my bra and he pulled the straps off of my shoulders. 

So, I reflected, he was the hottest guy that I had ever had in my bed. And, almost the only guy I’d ever had in my bed.  He was definitely the hottest guy that I’d ever seen in real life. And here he was, nestling between my legs now, his neck bent, head down, sucking my neck, kissing my collarbone, playing with my nipples, running his tongue over first one then the other.

He looked up at me, a glint in his blue eyes, and he trailed his nose down the middle of my torso. “I want to draw you, again, Lucy, I want to paint you, but this time, with my tongue.” And he dipped his tongue in my belly button and then ran it down to my pussy, where he took a lick and I moaned.

Jake flattened his tongue and ran it along the whole area, and I could feel myself swelling, reacting to his touch. It felt so fucking good to have him down there, hot, giving. “You gotta tell me where, honey, where do you like it?” His tongue darted and licked, sucked and explored. “Here? Here? I can’t read your mind, tell me. Tell me what you really think.”

I writhed on the bed, thinking that it all felt pretty damn wonderful, and he held me firmly by my hips.  “How about here?”  He took one hand off of my hip and put two fingers into me, licking my clit at the same time. Rubbing and stroking, everything wet, looking down at his shoulders between my knees, I came quickly, quicker than I’d ever made myself come before, and I came hard, my body clenching and shuddering, satisfying the hunger.

“You ready?” he asked after I came down and back to life, and the next thing I knew, his boxers were off and he was holding a condom.

I nodded, unable to think properly, but whispering, “I can’t wait anymore, come here, guapo.”

After a moment to adjust, condom on, he climbed up and nestled between my legs. Jake hovered over me, broad shoulders over my shoulders, his large, pretty cock between my legs. He scooted back and slid into me, and my body received him gratefully. Time expanded. We looked at each other, him hovering over me, connected at the root, me relaxed from an orgasm and wildly turned on for the prospect of another.

I wrapped my legs around his hips, although they barely made it around, and he began to move, very slowly and carefully. He would pull out almost the entire way, then ease in.  A blessing.

He was being gentle.

He was taking his time.

He was making love to me.

Over and over again, he thrust into me, slowly, but with a rhythm that was all him. Focused, devoted to me, his eyes on mine. And then I could see his eyes twitch and I could feel his cock swell. He was going to come, I just knew it. I could tell that he was holding it back, trying not to.

I was so close to another orgasm, but maybe not.

“It’s okay,
nene
, come,” I whispered, and with a gorgeous shuddering over me, he released and collapsed on me, breathing hard.

I’ll admit that I felt disappointed and slightly greedy. The first orgasm was so good. I wanted to come again.

After a moment, he asked, “Did I leave you hanging?”

I nodded.

“I was afraid of that. Sorry. Here, I’ll finish you off. Let’s try this.” And he pulled out of me, then gently grasped my hips and flipped me over. “Hang on a second.”

He stood up, got a Kleenex, discarded the condom, and came back. Then he traced his finger down my spine.  “This curve, Lucy. This curve.” He ran his finger down my ass to my pussy, and pulled my hips back so that my ass was in the air and I was on all fours.  With his artist’s hands that I’d admired from the start, he massaged my ass, made his way down, and went between my legs.  Like I’d wanted him to do when we first met.

“Head down, honey.  Ass up.”  So, face down, on my knees, with my head in my pillow, he proceeded to finger fuck me to another orgasm.

And this one was glorious. It built and built, and I tensed—all of the muscles in my pelvic floor and my hips and my ass and my shoulders and my arms all clenched, Jake chasing my orgasm with his fingers, rolling and making me shake until I came, hard, and collapsed my hips to the bed.

Okay, that was much better.

After a moment, he slapped my ass, just a little sting, then flopped down next to me and I curled up next to him, thinking that it was wonderful to be with a guy who talked and who communicated. He wasn’t my perfect romance hero. He didn’t do everything exactly right.

But it was really, really fantastic anyway.

“What made you start writing novels?”

Later that night, Jake, chambray boxer-clad, no shirt, enveloped me in his arms. I couldn’t get enough of him, enough of feeling his skin, enough of smelling his clean, spicy scent, of feeling his stubble against my cheek, my shoulder, my back. I’d slipped on a cami and pajama pants, and spooned against his big body, my face clean and makeup-free.

A little scared of letting him see me without makeup, I nonetheless allowed him to follow me into the bathroom and watch me take it off. This felt very intimate, letting him see me as I washed my face.  He leaned against the counter, and chatted with me. After I toweled off, he lifted my chin with a finger.  “I didn’t think you could be more beautiful, but here it is. The evidence.” And he leaned in and kissed my bare lips, running his finger along my cheek. “I love the way you look, Lucy, but without makeup? You are stunning. You are truly a natural beauty.”

Praise was difficult to take, because like many of us, I was conditioned by society to be modest, to deflect, to not celebrate myself. I’d fought those thoughts before—to accept my curvy body, my short stature, my skin color, my hair.  But I’d always had to
try
, too.  I mean that’s why I was so high maintenance, with makeup, hair, and clothes just right.  To some degree I’d beaten the bad thoughts that said that because I didn’t look like the girls in the magazines I didn’t have value.  I did have value.  But still, I’d had a layer of defense—dressing up to show off so you couldn’t see what was under.  Now I was letting him in, and I tried to allow in the compliment, to let myself accept that he thought I looked good, even without makeup, fancy clothes, or hair done just right.  It made me glow from the inside.

Without talking about it, we’d decided that he was spending the night. There was no reason for him to go back next door. I’d ache for him. Now that I knew what he was like in bed, how generous and how honest, I didn’t want to get more than a few inches away from him at any given time. I wanted to touch him constantly.

But for now, curled up with him in my bed, warm and comfortable, I answered his question.

“I don’t remember when it started because I always wanted to be a writer. Stories touched me when I was a kid. It’s funny. By reading, I felt listened to. I realize that doesn’t sound quite right, but I mean it. I felt like by reading and understanding the people in the story and the author, I was understood, especially when they reflected something that I was thinking. There was someone who
got me
, who thought things that I thought, and who wasn’t scared to put them down for other people to read. So it was like the author heard me and put
my
thoughts down for me. Or gave me new thoughts to think about.

“I love losing myself in books. I love connecting with the characters or the situations in the stories. And I love telling the stories, coming up with a different, but honest, way of saying something that I think or feel and hoping that it resonates with a reader.

“And I think the creative process is amazing. Something from nothing. Without me, my fifteen novels would not exist. And there is something to be said about allowing the creation to come into existence. Kind of like having a kid.”

I didn’t know if I should talk about kids with Jake or not. I’d no idea what he thought about them. I was scared to ask him if he wanted any. Two reasons.  I didn’t want him to reject my son, for one.  But also, deep down, I wanted more.  I loved being a mom.  I did it the tough way the first time around, but I’d be willing to do it again.  For love this time.  

A lawyer once told me that you should never ask a question that you don’t want to know the answer to. I didn’t want to know the answer to that one, not yet, not while things were so new, so I stayed quiet.

“What do you write about?” He nudged his nose in the space between my ear and my shoulder blade and kissed my back.

“Romance.” He pulled his face away and turned me to look at him.

“Real life isn’t romantic.”

I flopped over all the way, fully facing him, and looked at him, perplexed, upset, and concerned. “How can you say that? We just had the most romantic date. There’s plenty of romance in our lives.”

He smiled his sad smile and kissed my nose. “I have to go back to work tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

“I know.  Taking today off means tomorrow is gonna be painful.  And it means I have to work and won’t see you.”

God, why?  He didn’t seem to hurt for money.  “Why do you do that?” I asked, burrowing under his chin.

“What are your parents like?” he asked against the top of my head, not answering my question, running his finger up and down my arm.

Why didn’t he want to talk about it?

Still, I answered.  “They’re great. My mom’s a clerk at Ralph’s grocery. My dad’s a mechanic. I have a sister, Celia who lives in Los Angeles and a brother, Gabriel, who lives in Dallas. What about you? Your parents? Any siblings?”

Jake stiffened and stopped the travel of his finger. Then he let out a breath. “My little brother Ethan died when I was fifteen.”

“Oh no,” I breathed.

“He was in a car accident. He was twelve.” Rob’s age. “My mom left my dad because of it. After that, I never saw my dad because he worked all the time. So I became a latchkey kid. My teenage years sucked.  I went to school and got out of the house as fast as I could. And I learned to work. I learned to spend all of my time doing what it was I went to school to do. Because it can all be taken away and you have to work hard to keep it.”

What?  No.  Was I lucky because my work was my passion and it came easily?  I put my hand on my hip.  “That’s not true. The things that you are supposed to do come easy.”

“That’s not been my experience.  I have never been allowed to do the easy things. I’ve had to do the hard things.”

Oh, Jake.  “Who took care of you after your brother died? After your mom abandoned you?”

“Don’t say abandoned.”  He didn’t seemed pissed, but he was defensive.

“Well, she did, didn’t she? And your dad escaped by working his ass off?”

Jake didn’t answer. Finally, after a pause, he said, “We do what we have to do to get by.”

I didn’t know what he meant by that, but I couldn’t imagine not having the support of my family and friends.  They were my community.  “What did you do when you were in high school?  
Who was there for you
?”

“No one.”

I wanted to keep asking, to keep pushing him on this. But something made me pull back. I believed that I got more out of him than he gave anyone else and I wanted to tread cautiously. Here was this dreamboat guy who was so artistic and romantic. And he seemed so unhappy with what he was doing every day. He went about it automatically, like he was forced to do it.  Like he didn’t know that he had a choice in life. That he could do whatever he wanted.

And why hadn’t someone hooked up with him yet? He seemed so giving. He took time for me. What were his other relationships like? But I didn’t want to ask him about them right now, so instead, I just asked, “You sleepy?”

“Yeah.” He pulled me close. “Goodnight.” And he kissed me, warmly, and it got carried away. I kissed him back, he ran his hand down my side, and then he rolled so that he was nestled between my legs again.