Purely Relative (8 page)

“Yeah. I kind of felt sorry for Scott though,” I said.

“Really? Why?” Wispy puffs of air caressed my skin. The
lingering aromas of ham and homemade yeast rolls combined with Jon’s own scent
made a tantalizing amalgam, one that softened and warmed me. He nuzzled the
crook of my neck, placing soft kisses in a small circle.
Guh....

“Mmm, what?” Tingles blanked out all my thoughts. I didn’t
want to talk any more. I only wanted to feel. Body trumped mind, having taken a
backseat long enough during the hours we spent at the Cripps.

“Never mind,” Jon whispered, moving his lips up my neck to
my jaw. When he reached an awkward point, he shifted me onto his lap and kissed
me on the lips. The heat of his mouth on mine, the unabashed sighs of
escalating desire as he shifted his head to take more of what I offered—I
sank into everything that was Jon. “I love you in my arms like this, so
responsive and all mine.”

“You make it impossible to be otherwise.” I kissed him,
sealing in whatever his next words were.

We stayed that way for what seemed like forever, touching
and kissing, until our frustration over the inability to move any closer while
fully clothed and on my sofa finally compelled Jon to shift me off his lap. He
stood and pulled me up with him, then against him. Being so much shorter, I
could easily feel the full force of his arousal pressed against my belly. A new
surge of liquid heat raced south of my navel.

“You smell good enough to eat.” Jon’s hands slid low enough
to cup and squeeze my butt, lifting and rubbing me against his erection. “I
can’t tell you how turned on I am when you get this way, all ready for me to
make love to you. It’s intoxicating, addictive.” He sucked in a deep breath of
air and held it in his lungs before slowly expelling it.

I pulled out of his embrace and took his hand, pulling him
behind me into my bedroom. Jon pushed the door shut behind him and took over
the steering, leading me straight to my bed. We toppled over, Jon’s weight
pressing me into the mattress as he took my mouth and renewed his seduction.
Fingertips lightly skimmed from my neck down over my breasts to my waist, where
he found the bottom of my sweater and slipped beneath.

“Beautiful,” he said, as his fingers blazed a reverse trail
back up my skin to my breasts. A flick of those same clever fingers and he’d
unfastened my bra. How he knew I’d worn a front-hooking bra instead of
back-hooking one spoke either to his luck or more likely, his keen powers of
observation in all matters sexy.

I moaned as his hand curled around my breast and he shifted
downward to kiss and suck on the nipple through my sweater. His hot mouth
ignited my already super-heated body into an inferno of need so intense, I hurt
and longed to strip off the sweater.

As if he read my mind, he said, “Off,” and shifted his
weight so together we could peel me out of the offending article of clothing.

“You too,” I said, tugging up his long-sleeved polo shirt
over some crazy sculpted abs and pecs. A new rush of desire joined in the
rally, flooding me with a pulsing, aching emptiness only Jon could soothe. My
hips moved in a shameless, undulating rhythm watching Jon strip off not only
his shirt but his pants and underwear too.

“Now you,” he rasped, unbuttoning my jeans. He chased the
zipper with his lips and tongue against my skin, as he continued his downward
motion to draw off my pants and panties.

In a moment of clarity, I tossed the bra then reached for
his head. I knew he wanted to continue to pleasure me with his mouth, but I
needed a much more intimate part of him. “Come here.” I pulled on his ears to
urge him upward.

Skin to skin, we rocked against each other, our hips moving
together in an erotic hula of temptation. Jon kissed me deeply, plundering my
mouth with his tongue in mimicry of what had become nearly a frantic a need in
other parts.

“Oh my God, I can’t stand this anymore. Hurry up and take
me!” Only I didn’t say it quite that plainly, but instead used words and
phrases that would have made a pimp applaud.

Jon snickered, but did as he was told. Though he pretended
to give in to my whore-like begging with a mock sigh, I knew he wouldn’t have
lasted much longer either. He wasn’t the superman he always wanted me to think
he was, though he came pretty close.

Our eyes met and locked. His body tuned in perfectly to
mine, heat seeking heat, hard seeking soft, male seeking female, and we merged.
I moaned through every shivery inch of his tantalizingly slow penetration, and
he did the same, like slipping into a hot bath after a grueling day at the
office or an exhausting gym workout. Jon created an oasis of mind-numbing
pleasure.

Hips, thoroughly warmed up and rehearsed for the main act,
took over. Jon pushed deep inside me as I raised up to meet him. He moved at
first with the languid, syrupy slow speed of a man revving against his own
brakes, all that power roaring to be released. With measured strokes, he moved.
Slow thrusts that teased and tormented until I was nearly ready to scream.

He must have sensed when I’d reached the ends of my patience
for he quickened his pace. His breathing sped up and grew louder near my ear
where he’d buried his face in my hair. “Gayle,” he growled. His thrusts grew
more powerful until I lost my powers of observation.

My body coiled in tightly, all the sexual tension Jon had wrought
into every muscle, every tendon, organized for what promised to be the mother
of all O’s. Closer and closer I inched to my release. Jon was caught up in his
own maelstrom of animal-like yearning to achieve climax. My “yes, yes, yes’s”
might have had something to do with it, too.

We strained and drove and clenched and thrust until I
unraveled in an explosion of muscular energy. My mouth locked open in a silent
scream as Jon pulled more and more involuntary contractions from me, powerful
tides of erotic sensations that in return ripped from him what he’d ripped from
me.

He kissed away the last of my whimpers, moving his hips for
a few final thrusts. The last of the delicious shudders, his and mine, waning
until all that was left was our gasping, our sweat-slickened skin, and our
racing hearts.

Jon rolled off me and we lay there, side by side holding
hands, our breathing finally starting to slow. “Wow,” he said.

“Wow, yourself. I feel like I should bow down and worship at
the temple of your masculinity.”

The mattress moved with Jon, who chuckled as he grabbed a
handful of Kleenex. Too sated to move a muscle, I relaxed into the touch of the
tissues against my sex. Jon took his time cleaning me up, a deeply intimate act
that reached inside and squeezed my heart. The deed done, he collected me close
to his body and curled around me, breathing me in as I did the same to him.

“I love you, Jon,” I said, right before sleep sucked me into
oblivion. If he answered me, I didn’t hear him.

***

We awoke naked and tangled in each
other and after sharing some rather energetic and creative “good mornings,” we
headed to the shower.

Jon finished first and stepped out to give me more space to
condition my hair and shave my legs and other parts. When I pushed back the
shower curtain, dripping wet like a bedraggled rat, I found him equally naked,
but dry. One knee kissed the floor, the other formed a right angle.

Oh my God! He’s down on one knee! He’s going to propose!
My inner girly-girl ran around in a circle shrieking and waving her hands.

“Damn, slippery floor,” he said, climbing to his feet.

“Oh! Are you okay?” I asked. My voice fell flat as the
bottom dropped out. My inner girl tumbled into the chasm of ridiculous hopes
that weren’t really hopes, but more like fantasies, and not the least bit
realistic and therefore not the type of thoughts a modern woman like me ought
to be having. And yet, that girl had caught a branch sticking out of the side
of the cliff and insisted on seeing how it might have played out. In my imagination
it went something like…

“Gayle,” he would begin. “I love you with every ... no,
sorry, that’s lame....” He would swallow and his Adam’s apple would disappear
into his jaw before falling back down, like one of those carnival games where
you have to ring the bell by hitting a catapult hard enough with a hammer. “I’ve
always known, always believed, always hoped, you would marry me. I told you
that first night we made love. I meant it then. I mean it now. Please make me
the happiest man in the world by agreeing to marry me. I’ll take care of you.
You won’t have to look for another job. We’ll buy a house. You can have a baby
or two or three, make me dinner every night, something complicated with exotic
ingredients, and when I come home yelling ‘honey, I’m home,’ our pudgy kids
that look exactly like you will come running out of their rooms covered in
grime and fighting because you’ve gained 200 pounds and live on the sofa
watching bad reality television and are too tired to discipline them and thank
goodness I’m getting some action on the side from Thalia because a man like me
has needs and—”

“Earth to Gayle!”

I snapped out of my nightmare.

Jon handed me a black square, not a ring box. “Here, I got
you a fresh one because I nabbed yours.” He wasn’t offering his heart in
exchange for the one he’d stolen from me. He was offering an Egyptian cotton
towel, folded neatly into fourths.

“I....” I barely squeaked that out.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take yours. Here,” he took back
the towel, shook it out, and wrapped it around me, gingerly drying my face with
the corners. When he was done, he pulled me into his arms, a frown on his face.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

I shook my head and finally found my voice albeit a pale
version. “Nothing important.”

“Well something’s got you on edge. I hope my family hasn’t
upset you.”

He was being so sweet, so wonderful, and here I was unable
to tell him how distressing it was to not know if you were happy or sad your
boyfriend was not, in fact, on bended knee asking for your hand. The cold
reality was I was on my own, adrift in a strange city with meager savings and
no job. I couldn’t look to a man to bail me out of my problems. I never had
before and I wasn’t going to start now. I needed to get it together.

“I’m sorry. It’s just … I’m scared.”

He kissed my forehead then lowered his eyes to meet mine. “You?
Scared?” He shook his head. “You are one of the bravest women I’ve ever known.”

I filled my lungs with the steamy bathroom air and slowly
released it to rein in my tears. “I don’t want to live in my car in the ghetto.”

A laugh burst out of him. “Why would you live in your car
and why the ghetto, for God’s sake?” He smiled ruefully at me before kissing my
lips. “Oh. This is about being out of work, right?”

“I guess. There’s a gushing stream of Anderson Blakely CPAs
hitting the street now, nearly all of whom have more experience than me. Who
are the other firms going to hire? A seasoned staff person or a whistle-blowing
menace who doesn’t know the first thing about corporate politics?” A final half
laugh, half-choking cough emerged from me as I expelled the last of my
barriers. We both laughed together, but I could see the tension in the lines
around his eyes, in the tightness of his jaw. Jon held his cards close to the
vest but the longer I knew him, the more of his tells I deciphered. Something
was bothering him too.

On Monday, my first interview turned
out to be a bust. I could tell in those first few critical seconds. The manager
had barely read my resume, barely knew anything about me and worst, had no
interest in allowing me to educate him. I spent the afternoon researching the
other firms in town. Jon was already on a new assignment, though I could tell
he hated it.

He came over at seven, having finished his surveillance at
six-thirty.

“How’d the interview go,” he asked after collapsing on my
sofa and pulling me onto his lap.

“Terrible. I predict a form rejection letter by Friday, if
they even bother to send me one.” I nestled in and rested my head on his
shoulder. He was rapidly turning into my favorite chair.

“That’s too bad. Their loss. That was Minderman?” His rich
voice soothed me like a semi-melty chocolate bar.

“Yeah. I’ve got an appointment at a temp agency tomorrow.”

“Mm.” His unspoken message was he didn’t approve of temping,
thought it was beneath me. We’d discussed the matter before, only he came from
money and had no idea what it was like not having any. I doubt he lived off
ramen noodles and pot pies while in college. Yours truly did, and was still
paying off the student loans that helped finance them.

“How did your surveillance go today?” Even though he wasn’t
keen on being a field agent, I always found his stories fascinating. I could
people-watch for hours and never get bored. Jon would rather tap away at his
smart phone trying to hack into someone’s records. Officially he wasn’t allowed
to do that, of course, but—

“Dull. Nothing unusual happened. Nothing happened at all, as
a matter of fact. I think they’re all still away on vacation. Found the call I
wanted though. Only had to go back three months. Too bad it didn’t pan out.
Disconnected. I know there’s something there that I haven’t figured out yet.”

“Are you hungry?” I had saved him some of my dinner just in
case.

“Nah. Thanks. I can’t stay though,” he said. He toyed with
one of my curls as he spoke. “I have to fly to DC in the morning. Last minute
... uh, thing.”

I pulled back and scanned his face. “DC? Why?”

“Oh, it’s a special ... uh, training class they scheduled and
forgot to tell me about.” His eyes shot up to my temple, his fingers following
to touch the same lock of hair that fell in my face.