Just a Number (Downtown #1) (21 page)

Moving her through the loft space to a bed, visible around an opened sliding door, I took total control of her. I undressed her. I stopped her attempt to disrobe me. I wanted everything to be a new sensation. Removing my necktie, I tied it around her head, concealing her icy-blues, her pursed red lips gasped open wide.

Taking my time, I explored her spectacular body. Caressing, kneading, rubbing, pinching, licking, and biting, I was reacquainting myself with her reactions. I hadn’t forgotten our times together; I just had the desire to make her feel even better. The additional use of a blindfold invoked a greater level of sensitivity from her. She was uninhibited. She was louder than I remembered, her breathing… her moaning. She wriggled. She moved into my touches, but she remained patient. Silent, besides beautiful noises that escaped her lush lips. She never demanded. She never begged.

When I sensed she couldn’t take any more of my hands and mouth skimming her body, I opened her legs and settle my head between them. With my hands softly holding her thighs, I mimicked all the same movements with my mouth and tongue to her swollen lower lips. Panting, stretching, straining, she pushed into my lips. Smiling as I watched her delicious thrust, I rewarded her with two fingers that brought her over the hurdle and had her thrashing as a series of orgasms rolled on and on.

Removing the tie, I was able to see her gorgeous eyes watching me as I removed the rest of my clothes. Seeing her lick her lips, I sensed that she was ready to return the pleasure, but I had other plans. Taking her into my arms, her back to my front, I nuzzled into her neck. I just wanted the night to be about her. I just wanted to be with her, next to her, smelling her, feeling her—only her—always. Forever.

Waking the next morning, I felt incredible. And, hard as a rock. I was ready to redeem the prizes she had tried to offer me throughout the night, after every climax I gave her. Pressed up against me, teasing me with her little wiggles and groans, I broke away to grab a packet from her nightstand that was filled with toys that assisted me in pleasuring her during the night. Reaching, not only did my hand find a foil wrapper but also a full tube of something. Pulling it up for a better look, I laughed.

“Have you had to use this?” I dangled it in front of her. “Some poor guy need a little extra added help?”

Shaking her head, she swiped it from my hand, leaned over me, and tossed back in the drawer. Moving back to her side of the bed, she huffed with a grin. “Believe it or not, my friend Hazel bought a couple of them and gave me one.”

“Sure.” I winked. “Did she also buy you the other items you have in your drawer, naughty girl?”

She attempted to vacant the bed, but I grabbed for her. “Don’t leave.” Securing her hand, I tugged her back. Settled next to me, I reached back into her toy drawer. “I have a confession.”

“What else am I going to learn about you?” She raised an eyebrow as I pulled the erection cream out. “You definitely do not need that.” She was right, at that moment, I needed the exact opposite.

I laughed. “I might someday.” Flipping the tube to read the label, I pointed to the letters written below the ingredients. “LTRD Inc.”

“Yeah.”

“Leo. Trey. Rex. Dash.”

“No!” Snatched out of my hand for closer look, those were the first letters of each of our names.

As she stared at me, shocked. I laughed more. Then, I filled her in on our very lucrative endeavor. “Yes. It was a college project. We put our heads—pun intended—together, but not literally. Came up, another pun, with the idea to develop an actual product. Brainstorming, we questioned: What does every man want? Answer: Sex… an erection. Bingo: Our solution.”

“Did you sell it to a company?”

“No. Trey is a consultant for a biochemist company that specializes in natural products that are sold in healthy stores, online, and storefront. They also happen to be the ones that manufactured and developed our product. Trey worked closely with the chemists, and they ended up hiring the genius right out of college. He has remained with the company, seeing as how he—we—still have a vested interest in the company.”

“Speaking of making things, you owe me some good strong coffee, followed by cranberry mimosas.” She pulled herself up and padded across her wood floor toward the bathroom. “You kept me in bed way past my usual coffee hour.”

“You didn’t seem to mind those few rhythmic stretches,” I reminded her as I moved from her bed and joined her in the shower. I was in major need of release.

Sated, cleaned, and dressed, we walked out to greet the quiet city. Weekends in downtown LA were nothing like Manhattan. Some streets were literally like a ghost town. The day was unusually serene. It could’ve been my mood. For the first time in a long time, a peaceful calmness had swooped over me and taken charge. Total Bliss.

Holding hands, strolling out of our way to pick up a newspaper, I savored every step, being with Willow. Starting something new felt so right. I wasn’t even worried about a hitch in our working or personal relationship. Positive thoughts would get us through anything. Sensing she might not be having the same images floating in her mind, I brought her hand up and kissed it. If she wanted reassurance, support, or understanding, I was prepared to give it all to her.

Arriving just down the way from her place, we opted to sit outside on the small patio of the Sixth Street Tavern. The sun was shining; no need to hide away inside. Skipping the coffee she said I owed her, we ordered liquor infused beverages, and perused the menu, waiting for their arrival. I was able to vouch for almost everything they offered for brunch. I was there so often, the servers knew me by name.

“You come here much?” she asked laughing.

“Yes. If I knew you lived only a hop, skip, and a jump away, I would’ve insisted you join me every time.”

Willow was so overwhelmed with the selections, she begged me to share a variety. Not one to deny her, we ordered four different things, asking them to bring them at varying times. As we nibbled, we exchanged different sections of the
Times: Sunday Edition
. Fashion was obviously her favorite as she stripped it right out of my hand with a giggle.
Whatever made her happy, it was hers.

Taking our time, relaxing in the warmth that was part environment, part us being together, we talked about a bit of this and that as we had in the past. Until I mentioned words that caused her body to stiffen. Looking up from behind the car section, I inquired, “Dane Motors; my parents bought cars from them, any relation?” Maybe I shouldn’t have asked that, I thought as she was slow to answer, but it was too late.
It really was an innocent question.

“Yes. My brothers own it. They took it over when my father retired early.”

“You weren’t interested in cars? No interest in the family business? Not interested in getting a little grease on your couture?” I smiled. But, it faded quickly.

“I wasn’t wanted. Cars and women don’t mix, according to my father.” She brushed it off as a casual comment as if she was stifling her emotions, not wanting to ruin our
bubbly meal
as she referred to it.

I wanted to know more. That’s what we were doing, right? Getting to know each other. “And you didn’t persuade them to let you do their PR?”

“No,” she answered flatly, taking a sip from her glass of champagne mixed with cranberry juice. Her lips almost matched her libation. “Women aren’t meant to be in the work place. He would never have a woman represent his precious car empire.”

“This is a modern world. Women drive cars, fix cars, race cars, and sell cars. He must have women working for the company?” I folded up the newspaper and tossed it aside. I couldn’t believe men like her father still existed.

“Yes. But I can only imagine what he would say about them in private. For sure, he’d say what he always did to me when I challenged him with questions, ‘not the women in this household.’ So, I left as soon as I could to prove him wrong.”

“How did you manage? How did he let you?”

“I didn’t give him a say. I had my own money from a relative, once I turned eighteen. While finishing my last year of high school, I applied for an unpaid internships. I had no job experience, so an internship sounded like the smart way to gain some on-the-job training. I had already been accepted to a local college, and I needed something to do for the summer. As soon as I graduated, off I went to do my internship with a fashion magazine in New York. If I spoke French, I would’ve to run all the way to Paris.”

“Most kids pack illogically and run to a nearby park or around the corner and wonder,
what do I do now?
” I imagined her with a suitcase of fashion magazines.

“I wanted to leave home as soon as I could. I never returned. I lived on the college campus. Then, I lived with Tomasina before moving downtown. Besides, I loved fashion. Fashion magazines. If I couldn’t be part of the family business, I’d find my own.”

What did I just say?
“A little fashionista.”

“I grew up with a mother that prided herself on grooming to look perfect for her husband. I learned about the right makeup to wear and the steps to apply it flawlessly. Hair was always washed, combed, and cut on a schedule at a posh beauty salon. Clothing? Marian Dane only wore the finest looking frocks, pants, blouses, shoes—some designer, some knock-offs. But, they were tailored to her body precisely.” I loved how she stood briefly to imitate her mother. I also loved her curves.

“And I suppose you were also outfitted fashionably?”

“Of course. Shopping was on the schedule, too. My closet was filled with something for every occasion and season.” Finally, she laughed. “I was never allowed to do things boys did.”

“You have brothers. Didn’t you try to tag along? A little bit of tomboy?”

“Oh God, no. My mother was already appalled with my friendship with the neighborhood tomboy, Tomasina… TomKat.” She snickered. “Besides, my brothers were so much older when I was born. By the time I was old enough to hang around them, they were gone off to college, working, and one with a wife and kid.” It seemed that she was tired of my probing as she began to question me. “Do you have brothers or sisters?”

It was my turn to take a gulp of my spicy Bloody Mary. “I had a brother. He died. He was struck down by a car, walking home from school. He was in the crosswalk, two steps away from the curb. A woman, reaching back to care for her children, whipped around the corner. She never saw him. She stopped knowing she had run over
something
…”

“Oh, my God.” My heart sank to the pit of my stomach as she covered my bare arm with her warm hand.

“Yeah. He had massive internal injuries. He couldn’t be saved. My parents had the burden of pulling him off life support. Beyond the sadness, they couldn’t bear to share the grief together. They each blamed themselves. He wasn’t supposed to walk home. There was a mix up over who was supposed to pick him up.”

“I’m sorry.” She squeezed, and then rubbed my forearm. The contact was nice.

“It was bad. The woman who hit him was the mother of one of my brother’s school friends. He was in the car too. Not only was my family falling apart, but so was theirs. They ended up leaving the school and my father ended up leaving us…”

She gasped. “Oh no. That’s horrible.”

“They stopped talking. They couldn’t look at each other. I think it was even harder for my father. My brother was the spitting image of my mother. Same personality, too. Not excusing his departure, but it was a mutual agreement to go their separate ways. They had other troubles before the accident. It just brought them all to the surface. Believe it or not, they got along better after they parted. My father actually came to my mother’s aid in her dying days. He still handles all her business affairs, dealing with her iron sculptures.”

“I guess there can be a silver lining to the tragedies that plague our lives.”

“They always loved each other. The loss of a child was just too…” I hesitated.

“Devastating,” she finished my sentence and looked at me for a few moments. I mean really,
really
looked at me—through me—into me. “That sculpture. That… that was hers. That was her holding you while her other child slipped away… out of her reach…”

Releasing my bottom lip from my teeth, I nodded. “Yeah. And you understood it. I wanted to tell you. I obeyed your
no detail
policy. I’m sure glad we’re beyond that.” I took her hand in mine and kissed it. Then, I leaned forward and captured her lips. I put everything I had into that kiss, and I didn’t care if we were putting on a show. But before it got too out of control, I broke away with a brief whisper, “Let’s get out of here.” I needed normal. I needed her. I needed to be in the comfort of her arms, in her place. A place that I could see us together. A place that I wanted to invade.

Willow

G
etting ready for work one Thursday morning, I heard the front door open as usual. Hazel. About to go intervene… introduce, I heard her very British voice. “Oh. Surprise.” And the verbal bantering began.

“No. Dash.”