A Mess of Reason (22 page)

“Maybe?” I shoot her a little burning-hot
warning look. Hell yeah…why not, right? Maybe she’ll have an a-ha
moment. Or maybe I’ll have to fuck that a-ha right into her soon.
Very soon, now that her dance card is officially open. Can you say
training camp? (My inner quarterback is shining, right?)

“Oh, so now all my lady parts get a free
pass to have an orgy with all of your man parts?” She has genuine
surprise on her face, but her little smirk is telling. It’s rich,
let me tell you…
rich
.

“Pity sex, sympathy slam’ charity bang,
mercy fuck: call it what you will. I’ll help you get your love
on…take your mind off matters.” My booming laugh and cruel
narratives have her smacking me in the chest multiple times. I see
it all as progress, of course. Thankfully she’s laughing pretty
hard, too. Maybe we really can kick sand over her wedding
debacle.

“Such a fucker.” She says it with a
shit-eating grin that has me convinced her foot is on the
accelerator of
let go or get dragged
. I can almost feel the
pieces of tragedy falling off of her.

“We both know who the fucker is. We all want
to see what we want to see. You needed to know what I had already
seen in him. I’m not sorry that I’m gloating like I just friggin’
won the lottery. But Tess, sweetheart…you gotta know, you are the
only lottery I have been playing my whole life. I may not have won
yet, but I feel certain that I may have some of the numbers on the
card. And yes, I want to take my quarter and scratch off that
label, hiding the mystery of us, but I won’t yet… because I’m here
for you as your best friend. I love you to pieces, and while I’m
sorry for the way you feel hurt, I’m not sorry it happened.”

“Scratch them off.” It’s quiet the ways she
says it, but my God, it’s steady and sure as ever. Her eyes meet
mine, full of concern, pain, and all kinds of angst that I don’t
even understand, but they are also filled with a look of want and
wonder. A look that says
Here we are…another crossroad. Take my
hand…please, take it. Let’s go togethe
r.

“Yeah? It’s not too raw and fresh for that?
You know all I want for you at the end of the day is to know you’re
smiling like you’ve got a mouthful of Chiclets, and that your eyes
are sparkling like jewels in a crown. You want me to take your
hand…you want this story to continue on?”

“Maybe I just… I guess, well, I want a
do-over.”

What the…? A do-over? Okay, then, I guess my
translating skill set sucks. All I can think is that we’re back to
stage one. Shock and denial. So much for progress.

“It’s impressive how your head fits up into
your ass so well. You’re kidding, right? Did that photo give you a
concussion? Where the fuck is your off button, girl? Because I’m
calling the FBI as soon as we land to file a missing persons
report. Thank God only one of us has insanity in surplus.
Sweetheart, you need stop—it’s getting slasher-film ugly listening
to you. I’ve kidnapped you and you want a do-over with that
lunatic? You want me to turn the jet around? Again, here we are…
Damn, baby, it’s your choice! Make the call.”

“What? I don’t mean with him!” She’s
giggling, hitting me, then rubbing her forehead against mine,
signaling what a complete dope I am for not understanding her.
“He’s yesterday’s news. Page turned, book closed, ball-and-chain
severed. I have moved the fuck on!”

For the love of God ! It’s all that and a
bag of chips. Touch-friggin’-down! Put the oxygen masks back.

“I want a do-over with you, Scout. My
insides have been screaming at me for years to claim you, and I
thought our cabin weekend was a start, but you were a perfect
gentleman…well, sort of, and you didn’t let us do all the things I
wanted to do. I was so pissed when you left without saying
good-bye, but I know you had to. I was the idiot. I wanted to have
it both ways and you wouldn’t let me, thank God.”

“A do-over with me? So the separate
penthouses I got for us so that you could have some alone time to
sulk, eat your way through boxes of chocolates, and watch
An
Officer and a Gentleman
and
Beaches
24/7 was a bad move,
then?”

I bury my face in her chest as I chuckle,
breathing every bit of her in…every single bit of her beautiful
awakened self. My Tess…she sees me. She finally, finally sees
me.

“You are sicker than the average fuck. You
love torturing me, don’t you? Are you going to make me crawl to you
on this night of all nights? I just outed myself after a very raw
day. You aren’t going to torture me now, are you? Please don’t
embarrass me…I don’t think I can handle any more humiliation. Are
you going to make me beg?”

“Oh honey, you have no idea how I’m going to
make you beg. Oh, and yes, I want to see you crawling. It might not
be what you were thinking, but sweetheart, I’m going to have my way
with you and you are going to be crawling. All over me.”

“I can crawl. I’ll crawl down the aisle to
your bedroom back there if we can join the mile high club. I’ve
always wanted to be a VIP member.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I intend to enjoy this feasting. I have no
interest in a quick fuck in the dark. So if that’s what you want,
go for it. I hope you brought along your blow-up Bobby doll or
Pecker Pete.”

I’m tracing my finger up and down the front
of her sexy-as-hell wedding dress corset, stopping each time I
reach one of the clasps, wondering if she’ll let me open it for her
tonight.

“I have rules about fucking and light…you
know this. That’s not playing fair.” She’s dead serious. Sadly for
her, I’m writing the game rules this time.

“I have rules too, sweetheart.”

“Such as?”

I pull her face to mine, then whisper near
her ear in my deepest panty-dropper tone, “Such as, when my fingers
make their way up your legs to see exactly where your thigh highs
stop, I want to see your eyes sparkle with want. And when I spread
your legs after I peel your panties down, I want to watch your
chest rise and fall in anticipation. And when I finally taste the
sweetness between your legs as I lick you, I want to see your head
falling back and your lips mouthing my name. And finally, when I
make love to you for the very first time, Tess Harlow…I will be on
top of your entirely naked body, my flesh against yours, and I will
be looking into your gorgeous, sparkling eyes.”

“You’re making yourself unattainable.” Her
cheeks are scarlet, but one hand is petting my thigh.

“I could say the same of you.” But I know
damn well she’s sitting in a puddle of want right this very minute.
I can’t help but wonder what will win her over in the end: lust and
want, or fear and angst?

“What if we do this, then crash and
burn…because you don’t like what you see?”

“What if we do this and fly to the moon? I
already like what I see. I’ve told you this already.”

“Okay, Mr. Glass Half Full…so what? You want
to just play house for a few days?” She starts in saying those
words as she peppers my neck with small kisses, then proceeds to
suck my earlobe like it’s one of my nuts. I gotta say, that tongue
of hers for the fifteen seconds it was on my cock when we were by
the hot tub at the cabin…yeah, that was fifteen seconds of pure,
unadulterated, joyful cock-tonguing.

“Sure, we’ll have no problem filling our
time as far as I’m concerned. I even got us the penthouse with the
rooftop pool so you could feel as free as possible—when you’re
walking around naked.”

“You’re dreaming…and trouble. I hate you for
it. Since when have you been a rule follower?”

“Since my best friend’s internal courage
bank account needed a major infusion of bravery. I’m the perfect
person to help you overcome your fear of self. And you, Tess, are
portraying yourself as a damsel in distress far too well. I think
you actually want to show yourself to me. I think you’re dying to.
I think you want me to tie you up and strip you down like one of
those paintings from the Middle Ages where the woman is chained to
the tree in the woods and the knight comes to her rescue.”

“You’re deranged.”

“We’ll see. I’ve held out this long. I can
wait as long as you like. I’m like a puffer fish holding my air. We
can stay down for as long as you like, gorgeous. But at some point
you’re going to ask me to strip you all the way down and love the
ever-fucking daylights out of you,” I tell her as I inch my fingers
up inside of her skirt, teasing her inner thighs until I reach the
top of her stockings. I steal my fingers inside for a bit until she
lets out a little breathy moan. And really, I want her more than
anything I’ve ever wanted. I know she’s close to letting me in; I
know it’ll happen tonight or tomorrow night, or the night
after…

I’ve got all the time in the world. We’re
not leaving the penthouse suite until it does happen—the whole
fucking shebang, that is.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

TESS

For the first time in our lives we are both
finally free to explore a relationship, one that we have both
confessed to wanting for years, and I manage to be the one that
puts up the No Diving in the Deep End sign.

He’s right on all accounts.
Again
. I
do want to show him all of me. I want my entire naked body pressed
against his promised land of rippling six-pack fuckage. That body
that was designed for pure and primal pleasuring. Hell, we’re not
even locked in that penthouse alone yet and I’m panting. My mouth
waters just from me watching his perfectly formed lips that were
made for kissing and sucking. What he wants is what I want. I want
to be free. Free and naked and fearless with him in every way
possible. I realize, of course, I need to get naked with myself on
the inside first; that’s where the real battle lies. Again, here we
sit… There are three sides to our story. Mine, his, and the
truth.

I hate that I’m sitting like a caged bird.
Problem is, I’ve done this to myself. I flew right in, then settled
contentedly on the perch for years. Now that Scout has the key and
has offered to open the cage to free me, I don’t know how to handle
it. I only know how to move around inside the cage. How does one
fly into a world that they’ve never allowed their heart or brain
into? I don’t think rain will slide off my feathers. I don’t know
how to build a nest out there. I don’t know if I’m capable of
dealing with all the predators that could claw me to death.

Do I want to walk down the white sandy beach
in a sexy little bikini, holding hands with the man I love? Damn
right I do! But for now I need to just get used to the idea of
fucking with some light on. Candlelight? Maybe a slow transition?
You know…I fly out of the cage, land on top, look around, then
slowly make my way off of it?

Scout has every detail organized by the time
we arrive. Of course he does. You’ve seen how he deals with my
birthdays, so you can imagine what went through his head when my
wedding day crashed around me like a crystal bomb.

Perched on the ocean, with a bank of
shimmering glass doors that opens in a seamless slide, the
penthouse is spacious enough to house fifteen guests. It also
happens to feel luxurious enough for Elton John. Hundreds of
candles flicker through the space along with a sliver of moonlight
that slices straight through the center of the room like a
glistening fairy-tale sword.

“So your fancy thumbs were able to
coordinate all of this on the flight here? I feel so Duchess of
Cambridge.” I’m sitting on the edge of a massive fifteen-foot-long
wooden slab of a dining table that’s covered with enough food for a
small country. Still in my wedding dress. Pathetic, I know. He’s
sitting in front of me, nursing a beer, with his feet up on the
table as we talk.

He’s managed to have the hotel chef make all
of my very favorite things, including a coconut cake with a Twinkie
topper. That’s my Scout: always pulling more strings than a
marionette for me.

“You think this is fancy? You ought to see
what my tongue can do,” he says as he stands up and starts moving
all the food behind me aside, making a runway of sorts. Then he
sits down in front of me and holds my right foot in his hands. My
heels are about five inches tall and they scream “Come fuck me!” in
their finest opera. Hopefully he appreciates all they are saying
and turns a blind eye to his superfluous rule book.

“You keep telling me. It’s a lot of
hype…sure you’re not over-selling it?”

He kisses my ankles, then slowly starts
moving up my calves, pushing the flounce of my skirt up as he
travels up. Goosebumps race across my skin, then seem to dive
straight through my belly in anticipation of where he might go
next…or if he really might use that gold standard of a tongue in
all sorts of naughty ways.

When he reaches my stocking tops, he stops
and stands up. My heart races. Maybe he is going to bend his rules?
Maybe he will give me a mercy fuck?
Please, angels of jilted
brides, please let him give me a mercy fuck…I promise to try harder
the next time he asks me to fuck with the lights on
. He’s
positioned right between my legs, kissing my neck—which feels
mind-blowingly sexy, until he shatters me with the low vibration of
his voice. Fuck if it’s not all whiskey-rough sliding over me like
warm, hypnotizing honey.

“You know what I was thinkin’? I want to do
naughty things to you tonight: things that might help you change
your mind, things that might convince you about my tongue, things
that might convince you about how sexy your flesh will feel against
mine, naked and bathed in all this golden candlelight.”

Oh God. He is deeply male and I am aching
for him. The sexual tension between us rocking me to the bone.

“Oh, is that right? I might let you try to
convince me,” I tell him as my heart jumps from a skip to an
all-out dash.