In the Mix (23 page)

“That all sounds very logical, Mr. Spock,” she teases. “Although . . . I feel some sort of graph or pie chart presentation would’ve really nailed that speech home.”

“I’m serious, Birkita.”

“I know you are and you’re also right,” she admits.

“About what?” I ask as I pull my phone out and get into my calendar.

“Pretty much everything. What are you doing?” She leans over.

“Putting this into my calendar.”

“Putting what in?”

“You said I was right; I feel that should be documented for future reference.”

“Good idea, dipshit. Now, why don’t you put that in, as well. We can count up, at the end of the month, how many times you manage to make me call you that.” She pats my leg and kisses my cheek before getting out of the car.

“Holy fuck . . .” I trail off. I can’t help it. We’ve just walked into his house and I have a desire to get down to the floor and lick it, just to prove how fucking clean this place is. This isn’t “good, he’s not a slob” clean, it’s “this asshole comes down here and scrubs shit with a toothbrush, at three in the morning, when he can’t sleep” clean.

Lord, I won’t last a day.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, looking around frantically then back to me.

“Nothing. I just thought of a new reality show that’s sort of the opposite idea of
Hoarding: Buried Alive!
”

“Yeah, I’m a little OCD,” he runs his hand through his hair, looking around.

“Little is an understatement, but better than you being a slob, right?” I nudge into him.

“Right. So, do you want a tour first, or do you want to . . .”

I lean up and place a lingering kiss on his lips. “So, tell me,” I start as I walk away and head towards his stairs, “Why such a big house?” I ask. It’s your typical colonial, found in this area, but on a larger scale. Looking around at the build, I can already tell it’s a design by a local builder named, Cooper (ironically). Why do I know this? My dad was one of the contracted electricians on many of their developments. I’ve also, always, been partial to them.

“I bought it, imagining a family eventually filling it,” he states honestly. I stop dead in my tracks but then move on so he won’t notice.

“What if your wife didn’t like this big ole’ house? That wasn’t thought out very well.”

“Well . . . do you like it, Ceese?” He sounds worried. I feel slightly queasy.

“It doesn’t matter what I think, Kyle, I’m not your wife.” I retort snidely.

I fucking love his house. It’s what I’ve always wanted.

Damn it!

Shut-up . . . I know what you’re thinking!

“From a woman’s perspective, Ceese, do you like it?!” he raises his voice a bit.

“It’s nice. I like it well enough.” I look over my shoulder and offer him a reassuring smile. Well, I didn’t lie. My conscience is clear.

“Go to the left and it’s the door at the end of the hall,” he instructs.

“Is the west wing forbidden?” I thumb over to the opposite side of the house as a joke.

“That’s east,” he says flatly.

“It was a joke. I was referencing Beauty and the . . . never mind,” I stop myself.

“Oh. Oh, yeah. Right . . .” he trails off.

“What’s the matter?” I turn to him just as I approach the door.

“Tired.” He leans in near me but goes for the doorknob, turning it, and opening the door.

“You weren’t five minutes ago, don’t lie to me.” I reach up and fiddle with the buttons on his shirt, walking backwards into the room.

“No, I wasn’t.” He nods in agreement. He flicks on the light and as much as this nosy bitch wants to look around, I can tell something’s not right, so I keep my focus on him. “Why don’t you head into the bathroom and get ready for bed while I start working on settling you in,” he suggests and quickly pecks my cheek.

We all know the time span on my patience, right?

Lawd . . .

“What do you mean ‘settle me in’?” I let my hands drop.

“Put your stuff away, Ceese, what else would I mean?” He shakes his head slightly, narrowing his eyes.

“I’ll take care of my stuff.” I ignore his very obvious irritation with me. Normally, I’d be all “Can you iron my shit, too?” but not tonight. That bag isn’t just full of my clothes. It has all of my bills—past due bills—in there. I don’t want him seeing that shit . . . it’s embarrassing.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Right, so leave it alone!” Oh dear, I think I went a little over the top on that response.

“What do you have in there?” He goes for my bag.

“Stop!” I reach ahead of him.

“What’s in there—drugs?” he almost yells in an accusatory fashion.

Say what, now?

“I’m sorry; I didn’t realize we were in the middle of an after school special.” I look around the room as if a camera crew should be there. “I learned it from watching you, Kyle. I learned it from watching you!”

“That was a TV commercial.” He shakes his head, smirking.

“Same thing.” I shrug.

“No it’s not.” He jerks his head back.

“Were there actors?”

“Yes.”

“Were they relaying a message?” I cross my arms.

“Yes, but—”

“—same thing!” I cut him off.

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes.

“That dad’s porn-stache was creepy. He was creepy, like it should’ve been a “Daddy, don’t touch me there” commercial.”

“Well, with all the coke snortin’, it very well could’ve been,” Kyle says with great thought.

“Word.”

“People still say that?”

“What?” I lean down and grab my bag.

“Word.”

“It hasn’t been stricken from the dictionary.”

“You know what I mean.” His frustration comes to the surface, again.

“Do I?” I live for this shit, honestly, I do. I place my bag on his bed and rifle through it, trying to find something remotely sexy that he can take off of me in five seconds flat.

I have a long-sleeved thermal shirt and flannel PJ bottoms.

I am a sex Goddess!

“Kyle, can I borrow a t-shirt of yours?” I throw my previous selection of hotness back into my bag. Suddenly, Kyle’s hands slide onto my hips and my breath hitches. His breath hits my neck as he pulls me close. My inside flutters at his touch, his closeness. No one’s made me feel like this in a long time. I almost forgot what it felt like; the world stands still but for the loud sound of my heart, pounding in my ears.
Wow, that was all poetic and shit.

“Ceese,” he hums against my neck. “You won’t need a t-shirt . . . or anything else for that matter.” He starts to slowly unzip my dress. A chill runs down my spine, so powerful—it travels back up and around my ears, lingering there . . . buzzing. His hands glide up my newly exposed skin, up to my shoulders to push the material forward and off of them. My dress drops. I close my eyes and lean my head back on his shoulder as his touch retraces its steps down my back, then, moving forward, over my ribs and up to my breast. He gently cups them, his thumbs circling my already hardened nipples. Mmm . . .

Tug, tug, rub, and roll . . .

Tug, tug, rub, and roll . . .

“Tug, tug, rub, and roll . . .” Kyle chants in my ear. Wait—what?! I jerk my head to look at him. “What’s the matter, I can’t chant with you?” He smirks. His fingers are, of course, still doing, what we’ll now refer to as “TTR and R.” It may be a little difficult for me to concentrate on the answer for that question. I decide to ignore his comment and get back to the task at hand here, minus my public chant.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully,” he starts, “We’re doing this
my
way tonight. Do you know what that means?” He bites at my earlobe, sucking it into his mouth. I try to stop my leg from shaking like I’m getting my belly scratched or something. Oh, don’t worry . . .
something’s definitely getting scratched tonight.
“Well, do you?” his tone a little more authoritative. Fuck, I whimpered.

“No,” I finally answer him.

“It means,” he turns me abruptly to face him, “slow.” His lips are barely an inch away from mine. He licks them slowly. “Deep.”

I think my water just broke.

“I’m going to take my time, enjoying every inch of you. You will not rush us. And, you will keep this beautiful . . .” he nips at my bottom lip before pulling it between his to give it a proper suck, “smart mouth, at bay.” He nips again, this time grinding my lip lightly with his teeth. It’s all I can do to keep
my
whimpering
at bay—
fuck my smart mouth.
My legs feel like they are going to give out from underneath me. This could be due to the tsunami that is happening in my panties.
Pull it together, CiCi.
“I’m going to make love to you like I wanted to the other night,” he pants. I guess he’s feeling what I’m feeling, right now. Or something very similar.

“I don’t make love, Kyle.” It needed to be said. I’m sure it’s not going to go over well, but I had to put it out there. I want to make love to him; I can’t. There’s only one man I’ve ever made love to and what was so beautiful, in the moment, quickly became shadowed by ugliness. Ugliness that, to this day, makes me unable to connect—on that level—with anyone.

“You will tonight. You will,” he murmurs, his lips making a soft path of kisses down my neck.

“No.” I try to push back from him. “You don’t understand,” I say quietly and look down.

He palms my face and brings my eyes back up to his. “I don’t know what he did to you and I’m not going to push you to tell me.” He eskimo kisses me.

Fuck, I love when he does that.

“When you’re ready, I’ll be here to listen—I promise. Until then, I’m not going to walk on eggshells. It’s not always going to be your way, Ceese. We’re in this together. I feel things for you that I don’t recall
ever
feeling about anyone else. I know you’re not comfortable enough for me to express how I feel too much out in public. But, in the bedroom, I’m not holding back.” He shakes my head slightly as if to emphasize. “I want to make love.” Kiss. “That’s what we’re going to do.” Kiss . . . suck. Mmm. His hands slide down to my girls. My nipples harden again as his thumbs trace circles around them. He pinches them slowly, building up the pressing, causing me to moan. The pinch gets harder, tighter. The feeling is painfully erotic and I can’t help but yelp into his mouth. Ok, it was more like a whimper, but holy fuck, Batman! “Ceese,” he groans against my mouth, “I wanna taste that sweet pussy of yours.” He guides me back and onto the bed, finally releasing my nipples from his finger’s death grip.

“You may need a poncho for when you get down there . . . just sayin’,” I pant, half serious as I climb back onto the bed.

Kyle smirks, as Kyle does in most situations.

However . . .

This smirk comes equipped with some lip biting action.

It makes me want to fuck his face . . .
hard.

His hands slap down on my hips. He then, grasps the sides of my black panties and pulls them down and off. I’m almost a little embarrassed to have him see how wet I am for him. He may call in the Coast Guard. “Bring your knees up. No!” He stops me as I bring my legs up and reach to take my shoes off. “They stay on. Now, pull your knees up.” My breathing is starting to get out of control. “Open them—wide.” I do so. Kyle looks down. “
Fuck!
” he breathes like it’s painful. He quickly unbuckles and whips his belt off. His pants, next. I look down the middle, between my legs, and see his hard, thick cock, pointing at me like I’m in big trouble. I think I might be.

“This,” he flicks my piercing, “does things to me that make me feel crazy. You’re so fucking hot, beautiful.” He slaps the inside of my thighs with both hands; his thumbs strum up and down either side of my lady licorice. “So fucking wet for me . . . so needy.” He licks his lips and applies pressure to my clit with his thumb. I rock against it. “Yeah, beautiful, that’s it. Show me how badly you want me balls deep.” He slaps the inside of my thighs again, his thumb reapplying pressure.

Slowly, he lies on his stomach, situating his head between my legs. “Hold your legs back tight. Eyes down here, Ceese. I want you to watch me clean up the mess I’ve made.” He nips at my mound. I hold tightly under my knees, making sure that they are spread apart and out of the way. I watch. He lays two soft kisses up my center finishing up with a kiss and slight suck near my piercing.
Fuck, I love when he does that.
He keeps his eyes on me as he leans down again and with one long, slow sweep, he licks up my center. He groans. I watch his tongue poke out of his mouth and gently stroke my clit over and over again. His fingers slide down my center, circling my opening. He pulls my wetness. “Taste how badly you want me, Ceese.” He lifts his fingers to my mouth. I let him slide them in. I suck my taste off, greedily. Not because I enjoy the taste. But because I enjoy watching him and how much this turns him on. “Mmm good, right?”

He pulls them and puts them back to work, not waiting for my answer.
Oh, shit!
Feeling the pressure I felt earlier, I lean up a little bit more, at the same time, pulling my legs in tighter. I watch as his tongue dips shallowly, teases me, and then, plunges deeply. I scream out. That’s not the only thing he plunged in me. I rock (as best as I can) and I let out guttural groans. This only seems to fuel his fire. He plunges deeper; his finger brings a friend . . .