It's Not About You (11 page)

Could I say? Or think it?
 

Should I dare?
 

"Grace," Michael's voice vibrated in his chest next to my cheek. "Can I kiss you again?"
 

I suddenly felt…
wanted
.
 

I pushed away from him, my hands resting on his chest as I looked up into his face. His hair fell down toward his chin but there was no mistaking what I saw in his eyes. I'd seen that look…long ago. When I was young, before I fell into Burt's trap and the promise of family and children.
 

It was the look of a man who wanted more than a kiss. The kiss was only a prelude to a possibility. "Michael," I said as I kept my hands on his front. "You do realize I'm forty-five."
 

He smiled at me. "Yes."
 

"And you're what…?"
 

"I'm thirty-three."
 

I swallowed. Over ten years. "If you know how old I am—that I have a child in college and a rather nasty tempered ex-husband—" I shook my head but I never lost eye contact with him. "Why would you want to kiss me?"
 

"Because I was fascinated with the woman in line in that coffee shop the moment she stood her ground." He reached up and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ears. "I am still fascinated with the woman who works there, the woman who can plate a scone with pride, the woman I saw tonight with Gerald. You can't stand him and his archaic beliefs. You want to protect Kyle and you resent that man, you want to be honest and tell him what you think. But I watched you restrain yourself for your best friend." The right side of his mouth pulled up in a half smirk. "I see an incredible woman. Not a flighty…hoochie mama," and he laughed. "Who wants nothing more than the physical rewards of two people having sex. I see a woman."
 

A woman.
 

"Don't toy with me, Michael. You don't realize how fragile I am."
 

"I believe I do. I hear it in your voice. And saw it when you spoke to him. I see a woman recovering from years of abuse—"
 

"No. He never did that."
 

"Abuse comes in many forms, Grace. His crime against you, and I'm only speculating, is keeping you isolated. Meek. Dependent on him as you raised your child. You're in the first stages of finding yourself again. Looking for the Choose One."
 

Again I frowned at him. How did he know that?
 

"Then, you know I don't think I can handle rejection right now."
 

"Who's rejecting you? Not me." He leaned down and pressed his lips against mine again, but this time he ran his tongue between my own, and the only thing I could think of was how incredible it would if he would run that tongue along my other lips.
 

My mouth parted to accept him and I couldn't stop. How long… Good God how long had it been since I'd been kissed like this? Or touched?
 

His hand still cradled the back of my head as he bent me back. His kiss became both demanding and gentle. He would tease with his tongue, try the waters, and then when I didn't protest, he would plunge even deeper than before. Michael moved his hands and picked me up by my waist and set me on the island, and my ass landed hard on the smooth ceramic surface of the stove.
 

This put me face to face with him. I cupped his face in my hands, amazed at how soft his beard was, at how strong his jaw felt. He moved his hands over my shoulders, down my sides and then to my thighs. He rested his forehead to mine. "Grace…I've been wanting to do this all night…from the moment I saw you. No…since I bought that damn French Press. I can take you here, or we can go—"
 

I put a finger to his lips and wrapped my legs around his hips. "My bedroom's down the hall on the left. Last room."
 

He moved his hands to my ass and supported me there as he lifted me off the island and we moved to the door, with me backward. I kissed his chin, pulled his lips between mine and sucked as he made it down the hall and then stepped inside my sanctuary.
 

We stood in the center of the room. The wall facing the street was nothing but windows, a perk the previous owner had added before we bought it. There were two closets and I'd moved my bed into the far wall.
 

He set me down and I moved to the door and closed it. Locked it.
 

Whether this would be a one night stand or something more, at that moment, all I wanted to do was feel like a woman again, and make love to a man.
 

This man.
 

To Michael.
 

Michael removed his shoes, then his socks, as we stood in the center of my room, facing each other. I removed my own shoes, no socks. I'd worn a dress with no underwear, without the knowledge I was going to be in Michael Oliver's arms.
 

I unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off his beautiful chest. He was thin, but well defined. A six pack beneath lean pecs and broad shoulders. Michael was all hard, lean, muscle. I unfastened his jeans and he pushed them down. Someone else wasn't wearing underwear either and his cock sprang up to great me.
 

It was large and hard and the tip glistened with precum.
 

When he reached for my dress I hesitated, a natural defense for me as I backed up and took his wrists.
 

"Grace…I want to see you."
 

"No…I'm not as beautiful as you, or as Mary or any of the young girls I work with. I've had a kid and I haven't always taken care of myself. I'm fat—"
 

He moved fast and pulled me close, his cock hard against my stomach. I could feel it through the dress. He put both hands on my face. "I don't care. Do you understand me? I'm fascinated with you.
You
. Grace Murphy. A mom. A barista. And a damn good cook. All I want…" he said as he moved his hands down to my shoulders and toyed with the straps of my dress. "Is
you
."
 

I blinked a few times and swallowed. I was preparing myself for the rejection I knew would come. For the look of disappointment on his face when he saw my sagging breasts, or the bit of fat on my middle that pregnancy gave me and age wouldn't let me get rid of.
 

He moved his hands to the back and unzipped the dress before he pulled it off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
 

No bra. No panties.
 

Just me.
 

I watched his face with a combination of horror and sadness. I was expecting it. I'd seen it on Burt's face enough…not that we'd made love in ten years.
 

When Michael smiled I frowned. Was he different somehow? Did he smile when he was disappointed? I heard some people do that. Show the opposite. He moved his hands over my chest, then gently fondled each breast before he moved to my waist and then over my hips. His eyes roamed over my body until his hands found mine and pulled them up to his lips. He kissed the back of my hands and I knew this was the end. He'd seen the package unpacked and well…it was just too old.
 

"You're beautiful, Grace. Don't let anyone…
anyone
tell you different."
 

Beautiful?
 

I looked down at myself. Yeah I'd lost weight and done a bit of weight training with Kyle's help, but I was far from beautiful. Maybe if he put his glasses back on…

I didn't expect his next move. He knelt down in front of me, took my hips in his hands, and kissed my stomach. He trailed those kisses all around my belly button before he moved further down. I flailed just a bit but he held my hips still as he pressed his nose into my crotch, into the bush of fur I'd so often reminded myself to trim or shave.
 

And then his tongue parted my lips. Warm and soft, it moved against my clit and I nearly came right there, standing up. I would have pitched forward if Michael hadn't of been holding me up.
 

He moved that tongue back and forth against my clit as I unconsciously moved my hips just a bit to accommodate him. I wanted to spread my legs and bring him in closer. Anything to keep him there as long forgotten memories of satisfaction stirred and I wanted to feel him inside.
 

Kegel muscles bunched and squirmed as he relentlessly teased my clit unit he moved is right hand down my thigh and then into me. Several fingers slid into my long, neglected pussy and I did spread my legs then as I put my hands on his shoulders.
 

I don't remember how long I lived in that paradise. I only remembered him moving his tongue up through my lips and then up to my belly button and then up between my breasts as he stood. He moved his mouth into mine and I tasted myself, salty and slippery against his mustache, his lips and his beard. I licked my juices from is mouth as he lifted me and I wrapped my legs around his hips again, as his hard cock pressed against my now wet pussy.
 

He gently laid me down on the bed but I wanted him and I wasn't letting him go. He tried to pull back again and I knew what he was he was going for. "Dresser."
 

Michael pulled out a packet and smiled. "Ribbed for her?"
 

"I hear they feel great." I took it from him and tore it open. He straddled me as I rolled it over his beautiful cock and his eyes closed as he enjoyed the sensation. When I was finished he started to bend down over me, to position himself, but I couldn't wait. I pushed up and kissed him as I shoved and coaxed him to lay on his side, then on his back. There I straddled him as I rubbed my wet pussy up and down his shaft. His eyes, now half-lidded, followed where I moved as his hands toyed and pressed against my breasts.
 

I felt…alive.
 

For the first time in a decade maybe…
Alive
.
 

And in control.
 

I reached between my legs and guided him in. I wanted to suck that cock too, but I was too impatient. I wanted to feel him inside, move up and down and back and forth as he scratched an itch only sex could relieve. I used muscles so long neglected I felt my thighs shaking as I pumped my hips up and down and he tried several times to move me onto my side.
 

Not this time. If this was going to be the only time I could have him in my bed, this glorious, beautiful man, then I would have it
my
way. Not his.
 

His face twisted as I came with him inside. My kegel muscles massaged him, over and over as that old familiar feeling rippled along my muscles, sent waves of pleasure into my brain.

And then he bucked under me as he exploded inside. I felt every throb of his cock, every thrust of his hips as he grabbed my shoulders and pulled into me. His expression…priceless. I memorized it. Held it to me. Made it a work of art in my mind. If I never had another chance with Michael Oliver…at least I had this. And I had seen his face.
 

When the waves of orgasm ended he lay back, but never took his hands from my shoulders. I sat atop him as his cock deflated but still inside. I wanted to keep him there for as long as I could.
 

A thin sheen of sweat covered both of us. Me mostly. And I bent down to kiss his lips. My breasts pressed against his chest. He put his hands to my face and kissed me back. His blue eyes were what I called sex blue. That perfect, after a rain blue. "I could get used to this."
 

I wasn't expecting him to say that. And my face must have reflected my thoughts.
 

"Grace…what is it?"
 

"I just…you could get used to this? Us making love?"
 

"Yes. Is there something wrong with this?"
 

I stared at him, felt our skin against each other, inhaled the scents of sex and deodorant. "I just…what is this?"
 

He pursed his lips at me. "Grace…it doesn't have to be anything, or it can be everything. We don't have to make up our minds every second of every day. Right now…I want to know you. I want to make love to you in the morning. I want to learn about you." He paused and gave me a seriously odd smile. "I want cheesecake."
 

I laughed.
 

He laughed and threaded his fingers into my hair as he leaned up and kissed my forehead. "How big is your shower?"
 

"Pretty good size. Why?"
 

"It's Saturday night. Let's get cleaned up, go have cheesecake and more of that coffee and eat it outside on your back deck. I saw you had a swing out there."
 

"Yeah…I do."
 

"Then let's swing. And talk. And get to know each other and watch the sun come up. You have to work tomorrow?"
 

"No. George gave me the day off."

He kissed me again. I kissed him back. I really, really liked that idea.