Page 13 of Twin Babies For The Grump

I tug her against me. Blanc flops onto my chest like dead weight and then sinks onto the ground for a rather listlessly received belly rub.

There’s no way I can leave her alone in the house like this. I decide that staying the night is the only option. One Chinese order later, out of which I manage to goad Blanc into eating some steak strips, I take a shower.

It’s been a long day. Definitely not the welcome back reception that I had been hoping for.

I only have my dirty clothes to change back into, so I fold them neatly onto the end of the counter and then get into the shower. The water comes out from a nozzle on both sides, and the sliding glass door closes with a smooth roll of hinges.

Warm water crashes over my muscles. Grief over the loss of a dear friend wells up inside of me, but I know that if I break down over Thomas right now, I’ll still be a mess tomorrow.

And I have to deal with reporters in the morning, so no messes allowed.

That leaves me desperate for a distraction. I should have turned the music on, but it’s too late for that now. I go for the next quick fix that I can think of, and snatch one of the nozzles from the hook on the wall.

The hot air swells up in the shower. With my free hand, I take hold of my left breast, rubbing my thumb over my nipple. My eyes close, and I think about the achingly handsome man that had fucked me up against a window in San Francisco. He comes to mind totally unbidden, and then won’t leave.

With my other hand, I lower the nozzle of the shower down until the hot water is spraying against my lower belly, the curve of my hip, and then it cracks against my clit.

Hot, hammering pleasure has my mouth falling open.

It’s easy to sink down onto the floor of the tub. The coil of the nozzle comes down with me. It pounds against my clit, a relentless pressure that turns relentless.

My other hand slides between my legs, mirroring the same actions that Bale had taken. A stroke of the finger, and then one pressing inside. My hands are smaller than his had been, so it takes two fingers to get the stretch of one of his.

Shit, he had been big.

Tall. Broad. Big hands, big fingers, big cock.

My head thumps backward, against the white-tiled wall. His mouth had pressed against the side of my neck. Stubble had scraped against my skin. I press a third finger inside, but it’s not nearly enough to account for two of his.

I roll my hips, feet pressing against the floor of the shower. I press the nozzle even closer to my skin, letting it assault my clit with enough force that the little nub of nerves turns bright red beneath it.

It’s amazing.

And with the second nozzle still running, there’s no way to get chilled. Hot air fills my lungs. I breathe in, desperate, and breathe out with a sound. There’s no one around, so there’s no reason to be quiet.

Orgasm creeps up on me fast, and crashes over me with a wave of bliss that threatens to drown me; same as King’s kisses had.

The nozzle clatters to the floor of the tub, rolls over, and sprays up at the ceiling. It comes back down in a mist of hot water. I ignore it, eyes closed, as I struggle to catch my breath.

It’s not as good as actually getting fucked but I’m glad to know that just thinking about Mister Hot Stuff from San Fran is enough to get me going.

I wait until my legs aren’t wobbly and then get up, fixing the nozzle back to the wall, shutting off the water, and grabbing a towel as I get out. I dry off and get dressed, then remember that I have my suitcase with me still.

Rushing outside in the semi-dark, I grab it from the base of the steps that lead up to the estate. For a moment, I’m struck, as I often am, by the beauty of the grounds. The winery stretches out for miles; the grape fields to the east, and the processing plant to the west. There are fairy lights strung up all over the front walk leading to the estate.

Thomas had been a man that knew how to appreciate beauty. And it shows now, as I make my way back up toward the stone-work building, with its big dark wood front doors and its lovely gardens lining either side of the walk.

The dogs meet me inside. Blanc whines and paws at me.

I take her paw and give it a reassuring pet.

“Don’t worry,” I tell her, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Locking the door behind me, I change into the spare pajamas from my suitcase and then head for the couch. It’s a large, lux cream piece of furniture. I lay on it, noting that it’s more comfortable than my actual bed, and am almost instantly joined by both dogs.

They aren’t normally allowed up on the furniture, but considering the circumstances, I think that tonight deserves to be an exception. It’s not like they’re going to ruin it in one night… And I’ll just brush off the white hair in the morning before I head to work.

Tipsy sleeps on a cushion of his own, but Blanc drapes herself over my legs like a living, breathing blanket. And that’s how we stay, together, the whole night.

---