Beard Science (Winston Brothers Book 3) (29 page)

“Oh, oh, oh God!” She shuddered, her lips parted, her eyes wide and foggy with lust. She tilted her hips forward and threw her head back.

I’d never witnessed anything so sensual, so goddamn sexy. She was seduction and sin, excess and decadence.

“Is this what you want?” I demanded, rubbing her slick center and slipping my fingers into her luxurious heat.

She didn’t respond, and I hadn’t expected her to.

The compulsion to devour gripped me, the craving raged within me as I stroked her supple body and she mirrored my maneuverings with clumsy movements, holding and stroking me with no finesse. That too felt essential. It felt exactly right. 

I felt the first pulsing of her release and I slowed my pace, drawing a confused whimper from her lips.

“Cletus, oh, please, don’t stop. Please. It feels . . . it feels—”

“I’m not going to stop.”

I wanted to prolong the moment, indulge myself. I wanted immersion in my primitive and possessive thoughts. From now on she would be mine: her skin was for my eyes only, for my mouth to cherish, my hands to touch. Her body was made for my body and I would claim her as she’d unknowingly claimed me.

“Cletus!” she cried out, trembling, twisting on the bed, unable to catch her breath in her orgasm.

She squeezed me reflexively and I pumped into her hand, coming along with her on a low roar of satisfaction and transitory fulfillment. I captured her mouth and her screams. Her heart beat along with my heart, our skin sliding together and she endeavored to press closer, as though she wanted to climb inside me and live within.

I know, because I feel the same.

Claire was right. Love negated experience. Completely and utterly. Love negated so many things. I was satisfied by my woman, by her unskilled touch, in a way I’d never been before. Because I’d been making love, and the person touching me had been Jennifer.

My Jennifer.

She was still out of breath, but I kissed her anyway. I wanted her hot mouth, the taste of her on my tongue. I wanted her naked and beneath me. I wanted her on her knees. I wanted her bent over and gasping. I wanted her on top, using me to pleasure herself.
I wanted . . .

Sanity didn’t arrive all at once, it drifted, reaching the surface by degrees.

The first moment of clarity arrived when Jennifer pulled her mouth from mine and said, “Wait.”

I blinked at her, at her profile. She’d turned her face away, chasing air. I leaned an inch or two backward, my eyes moving over her cheeks, jaw, neck, then lower. My hand was still in her panties, stroking her. She moaned and shivered, the air she needed hitching in her lungs.

I swallowed, tasting not quite remorse, not quite dismay, but rather a sobering mixture of both.

Maybe she sensed the shift in my mood. Or maybe it was just a coincidence. Regardless, her eyes sought mine. They were still glazed and hazy.

They were also bright.

And happy.

And she was smiling.

“Mmm . . .” she hummed, cuddling closer, tucking her forehead into the crook of my neck. She placed a kiss on my chest. “When can we do that again?”

My woman was extraordinary.

“Morality, it could be argued, represents the way that people would like the world to work, whereas economics represents how it actually does work.”

― Steven D. Levitt,
Freakonomics

~Cletus~

“Where were you
on Friday?”

The question startled me. My eyes shot up. Jethro stood on the other side of the counter, wearing a nice dress shirt that made his eyes look green. He was looking at me as though nothing was amiss.

He was up to no good.

I frowned at his sudden appearance. “You look nice. When did you get here?”

“Just now.”

I squinted at him. “Just now?”

“Yep. I let myself in.” He tossed his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the door.

I blinked at this news. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Really?” He leaned his elbow on the counter. “I wasn’t particularly quiet.”

“Hmm . . .” I shifted my attention back to the quote for service I was reviewing. Shelly had initiated it. She’d done a good job.

“Cletus?”

“Yeah?” I double-checked her figure for labor, comparing it to the dealer’s website. The labor amount seemed high, but it checked out.

“Where were you on Friday?”

I stilled, bracing for the flashes of memory: Jenn’s eyes as she pressed me back to the bed, her mouth on mine, her hands on me. The images and sensations had been playing on repeat since Friday night. As had the aftermath.

She’d climbed on top of my body and snuggled close, kissing my chest and neck and chin, saying, “I want us to be like this always.”

“Cletus?” Jethro snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Hello? Where’d you go?”

“Someplace nicer than here,” I mumbled. I’d meant it to be a joke, but it didn’t sound like a joke. Maybe it didn’t sound like a joke because it was the truth.

Being with Jennifer, just the two of us, was preferable to double-checking service quotes. Being alone with her was more preferable to anyone, anywhere, and anything else.

And there’s the rub.

We had no place to be alone. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t so keen on living at home and keeping tabs on my brothers. They could keep tabs on themselves.

“Speaking of nice places,” I cleared my throat and endeavored to appear nonchalant, “do you know if Claire is still looking to rent her place?”

“I think so, why? You know someone?”

“I might.” This glimmer of an idea had occurred to me on Saturday and was quickly becoming a wildfire. “I guess I’ll give her a call.”

Claire’s place would be a good temporary fix. It was halfway between Jennifer’s house and the Winston homestead. The old farmhouse sat on two acres of land, plenty of room for Jenn’s garden beds. I’d have to invest in a writing desk for her, someplace close to a north- or south-facing window so she’d have the best light.

“You never answered my question,” my brother pressed.

Jennifer Sylvester loved me. I loved Jennifer Sylvester.

A fact.

Surreal.

She hadn’t said it yet, but I knew the truth. I could tell. Yep.

She loves me.

“Did you ask a question?” I was still thinking on Claire’s place, the ideal privacy it would afford, and the
fact
that Jennifer loved me.

After cuddling for too short a time, I drove Jennifer home. I held her hand as we walked to the car. I held her hand while I drove. I held her hand as I walked her to her porch. And then I was forced to let go of her hand.

I’d had indigestion since. Not real indigestion; I was suffering from a type of heartburn caused by missing a person.

Agitating matters, I’d spotted an article in
The
New Yorker
on Saturday morning about verbing and wanted to share it with her.

Saturday afternoon, I’d been forced to call Repo—the highest ranking member of the Iron Wraiths other than Razor St. Claire—and request a sit down for the week after Jethro’s wedding. Repo knew us Winstons as kids and used to insist we call him Uncle Repo. He and my daddy used to be good friends, but I had no idea if they still considered each other brothers.

Also of note, I suspected Repo was—in fact—Jessica James’s biological father. I hadn’t shared this theory with Duane about his woman, but I was fairly certain. However, that’s a different story for a different day.

The good news was Repo sounded amused by the whole business with Isaac Sylvester. The bad news was I could hear Catfish in the background making threats.

Then on Sunday, the pastor’s wife had cornered me after church and asked if I knew anything about roses. I did not. But I knew who did.

“Yes, I asked a question. Where were you on Friday?” Jethro asked again.

I scratched my beard. My phone buzzed in my pocket, so I pulled it out and read the screen. 

Jenn:
I had a lox bagel for lunch and thought of you.

I studied her text for a full minute, re-reading it several times. Jenn and I had sent each other a quantity of texts since Saturday morning. I’d never sent a quantity of texts to anyone. Up to this point in my life, text messaging was for relaying grocery lists and status updates.

But now they were mini-conversations, each holding weight and importance, yet none adequately satisfied the missing-person perpetual indigestion. I wanted to see her. We had too many things left unsettled. It was time to impose order on the chaos and plan our course. It was time to move forward together.

And, in the interest of full disclosure, I couldn’t stop thinking about her body. I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things I wanted to do to her, all the ways I wanted to monopolize her time and space.

“Cletus?” Jethro asked hesitantly.

“Just a minute.” I held my finger up and typed a quick response.

Cletus:
Why’d you think of me? Because I’m fishy? Cheesy?

Jenn
:
Because it had capers; lox bagels give a whole new meaning to the word “capering.”

I grinned at that. She had this effect on me. Was my case was terminal?

“So, Friday?” Jethro prompted again.

“I was, uh . . .” I scratched my jaw. “None of your business.”

He was quiet for a stretch and I could feel his eyes on me. Finally, he said, “Fine. Suit yourself. I’m here on a mission.”

“What’s that?”

“Are you bringing anyone to the wedding?”

“Yes,” I said, but then frowned. I’d forgotten to ask Jennifer to the wedding. My frowned deepened because, last anyone heard, she’d agreed to go with Jackson James.

“Well?”

“Well what?” My eyes flickered to his, then away.

“Who is it?”

I slipped my phone back in my pocket and glowered at my brother. “Why do you want to know?”

He gave me a patient smile. “It’s Shelly, right?”

“What’s Shelly?”

“Who you’re bringing. You’re bringing Shelly, right?”

“Why would I do that?”

Two lines of surprise and consternation formed between Jethro’s eyebrows. “Because you said—I mean, last I heard you’d decided she was it.”

I thought back over the last several months to my conversation with Jethro in early September. And then I decided I’d been a damn fool.

“No. Not Shelly. Shelly Sullivan is my employee and I’ll thank you not to speak of her in such terms.” I glanced at my watch, remembering that the last time I’d spotted Shelly she was trying to replace a leaky radiator. I needed to check on her progress. It was almost closing and I didn’t want her staying late. She always stayed late. The woman needed to find some sort of work-life balance.

Jethro sounded like he didn’t know whether to frown or laugh. “Are you serious?”

“As an armadillo in a laundry mat.” I turned from the counter and marched to the door at the back of the office.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“I need to close the shop,” I called over my shoulder.

I heard his footsteps follow around the counter and he hastened to keep up. “What happened to finding your life partner?”

“I changed my mind.”

“You changed—”

“My. Mind.” I stopped short and faced him, placing my hands on my hips. “It’s like underpants, Jethro.”

“Dirty and dark?” He smirked.

“No.” I scowled at his facial expression. “A mind is like underpants because people change them all the time.”

“But you don’t.”

“I do change my underpants all the time, Jethro. And, for the record, I think it’s mighty rude of you to assume I don’t.”

He almost rolled his eyes, but caught the urge. “I meant your mind, Cletus. You don’t change your mind.”

I spotted Shelly over by the basin sink. She was scrubbing her hands. “Do as the song says and let it go. You have your answer.”

“So, you’re bringing someone, but it’s not Shelly?”

“That’s right.” I nodded, stepping around my brother.

“Who is it?” he called after me, bringing me to a halt.

I hesitated, giving him my profile. I shrugged. “She doesn’t know she’s going with me yet.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes.”

His green eyes flickered over my person with unveiled curiosity. “How can you be sure she’ll say yes?”

“She’ll say yes,” I answered too quickly, and then caught my mistake too late. Jethro’s smirk was back.

“Fine. I’ll let Sienna know you’ll be bringing a plus-one.”

“Good. Now leave. You could’ve sent me a text to ask me about this.”

“Yes, but then I wouldn’t get a chance to talk to you about the bachelor party.”

My eyes bulged before I could catch the involuntary response. I stared at my brother.

He’d caught me.

Dammit.

“Yes, Cletus. I know all about the bachelor party.”

Schooling my expression, I picked an imaginary piece of lint from my sleeve. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You do too, liar.” Jethro gave me an easy smile, laughing, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Duane let it slip.”

“Duane?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Duane doesn’t talk. How could he have let it slip? Did he do an interpretive dance?”

“No. But speaking of interpretive dancing, I know you’re planning on strippers.” Jethro’s tone was flat and edged with displeasure.

I didn’t laugh, but I wanted to. Jethro had no idea. No. Idea.

“It’s just one stripper, Jethro. I think you can sit through one stripper. Besides, you might learn something. We all might pick up some good moves.” With that I clapped my hand on Jethro’s shoulder, gave him a squeeze of assurance, which did nothing to ease the discontent in his expression, then left my oldest brother to his ignorance.

I crossed the shop to where Shelly was scrubbing her hands, smirking to myself. I wasn’t typically a smirking to myself kind of person, but this situation definitely called for clandestine smirking.

She glanced at me, her eyes sliding to me, then away. “What do you want?”

I opened my mouth to respond but Jethro shouted from across the shop, “I am so afraid, Cletus.”

So I shouted back, “Think of Sienna. She’ll thank you.”

Then I turned my attention back to Shelly. She’d lifted an eyebrow at me. I wiped my expression.

“When do you think you’ll be done for the day?”

“Now. Why?” Shelly moved her attention back to her scrubbing.

“Oh.” I nodded. “Good. That’s good.”

Apparently I didn’t need to lecture her about work-life balance. For now.

“Also, I’m taking two days off next week.” She turned on the water, rinsing the suds from her fingers.

“That should be fine. Duane is leaving a week from Thursday, so if you have any questions for him before you go, make sure you ask before then.”

“Why do you need the days off?”

Both Shelly and I looked to her right, finding Beau with his arms crossed and a thoughtful frown on his face.

I noted that her back and neck stiffened at his question and she tilted her chin an inch, like she was preparing for a fight. She didn’t answer straightaway, but when she did her voice was more aloof than was typical.

Which was very aloof.

“My brother had a baby. He wants me to see it.” Shelly picked up the soap and began scrubbing again.

I frowned at her hands. They were already red from her washing and, from what I could see, completely clean.

Beau blinked at Shelly’s cold response. “Don’t you want to see the baby?” His tone was patient and gentle and surprised the heck out of me. I’d never heard him speak to her with anything but contempt.

She didn’t reply. As the time stretched, I lifted my eyebrows at her then shifted my attention to Beau. My brother continued staring at her profile. Waiting.