Page 11 of Something to Talk About

More messages come across the screen. I push the button down on the side, muting the pinging noises. I’ve got a couple of more things to do before I’m going to bed. I walk to my bedroom, tossing my book and phone on the bed before skirting toward the window. This room is the only one I installed room-darkening curtains. I’m a light sleeper as it is, and come the weekend, I love nothing more than to sleep in past the time the sun rises.

The floral curtains work well with the wall color as well as the bed set. Luckily, I had those two items already and didn’t have to purchase anything else for this room. The other day when we were working in my room, it was hard for me to keep my eyes on the walls instead of sliding to Asher’s backyard. At that time, I hadn’t met him, but I sure enjoyed the view. I also thought he was a single dad and felt very pervy for watching him in the pool in nothing but a pair of swimming trunks.

Then I met him, in practically nothing.

“Asher Fontaine.”I say his name aloud much like I did the night he introduced himself to me. My traitorous hussyof a pussy clenches thinking about him all over again. My libido has been mute, gone, sayonara, see you later for more months than I care to admit. Nothing interested me.Until him.

As Catherine would say, he’s a tall glass of water on a hot summer day, yet to me, he’s a walking orgasm. I know because my sex drive is now in overdrive. My toy has gotten a workout each and every night, not to mention when I shower in the morning after waking up from a deliciously naughty dream. My body is dripping with sweat, my core is aching, and I’m running to the shower to use my hand-held showerhead.

The curtain is closed, so now there’s nothing left for me to do except shower and hit the hay. I start stripping out of my clothes, leaving a pile in my wake as I walk toward the only bathroom in the house. That mess can be picked up later. Right now, I’ve got a building ache in my body that’s trying to consume me whole.

Maybe one day, I’ll have the courage to go after what I want. Tonight is not that that day, and tomorrow isn’t looking good either. Plus, Asher isn’t home. Believe me, I know. In between piddling here and there, my eyes seem to wander toward his house. The driveway where his gun-metal gray truck usually sits has been empty for hours now.

“Get over it, Lennon. You’re thirty-five, divorced, and dating scares you.” I flip the light on and study myself in the mirror. This is a work in progress. Whereas I’d usually find fault in my body, telling myself to lose weight, exercise more, or that I should do something different with my hair, I’m at peace with how I look now. It’s taken a bit of healing some ofthe past trauma with my therapist, but I’m getting somewhere.

Instead of going down a dark and slippery slope, I look at my body. My full breasts that have a slight sag as I cup them, my cherry-red nipples that harden and ache. When I trace each with the tip of my finger, my flesh pebbles along the length of my body. My head drops back on my shoulders as I think about Asher, wondering what it would feel like if it were him working me up. Maybe he’d be behind me, one hand cupping my breast, the other sliding down my stomach and cupping me. I do what I’d imagine Asher would do, only he’d be holding me up instead of me trying not to let my knees buckle. I’d be blanketed in his warmth, feeling the stubble from his slight beard rub along my neck. My hands would dig into the back of his thighs, holding on for dear life while working my hips as he slams two fingers inside of me.

“Asher,” I moan into the empty room. My voice echoing off the tiled walls as I work my clit with the press of my thumb. I curve my fingers, hitting deeper with each inward movement. My orgasm hits hard and fast, and wetness saturates me, more so than I thought possible. I’m dripping down the insides of my thighs, leaking down my legs, and my hand is soaked, too. A boneless heap, that’s what I am. I grip the countertop at the last minute when my body starts quivering.

“Holy shit,” I breathe out when I finally catch my breath. My forehead is propped on my arm along the counter, my body is bent over because my legs are like Jell-O. Attempting to pull myself together is going to be easier said than done. As I’m pulling my fingers out of my drenched pussy, mymuscles decide they’re not nearly done. Never in my life have I been able to have two orgasms back-to-back. Especially not with the name we won’t be speaking.

I lift myself up off the counter and attempt to get my limbs in action, when all I want is to be thrown on the bed and let Asher take me any way he wants me. Since that isn’t likely to happen, I do the next best thing, minus my toy because its dead-dead. Which reminds me, the next time I have my laptop open, I’m going to look for something new, maybe one you can plug it in to recharge instead of being dependent on batteries. There’s nothing worse than being mid-orgasm when your toy dies.

A few minutes later, I’m able to walk to the shower and hit the nozzle to turn the hot water on. I step over the ledge of the tub, letting the hot water coat my body, and saturate my hair. The last thing I wanted to do was wash my hair, but the orgasm I just gave myself coated my entire body in sweat, so it’s now a necessity. When the water rains down on the front of my body, a zing runs through me, making me greedy for another orgasm. Damn, Asher Fontaine is giving me more orgasms than I’ve ever had, and he isn’t even aware.

I take the nozzle off the showerhead. This contraption has the water running from the head and the hand-held part. I run it over my chest, feeling the vibrations against my aching breasts and nipples. I’m still weak from climaxing in front of the mirror. Not wanting to fall, I plant my back against the cold tile and close my eyes. This time when I work myself back up again, it’s with Asher on his knees in front of me. His big hands cup my ass, my leg is thrown over his shoulder, and he’s lapping me from clit to ass. My fingersgrip his chocolate-brown hair while his vibrant green eyes hold my own captive. I move the nozzle down the length of my body, lifting my leg up to the ledge. This old house has the original tub, big, sunken, and deep, and, in this instance, it’s helping me out. One day soon, I’m going to take the longest bath of the century.

“Oh god,” I breathe out, hot and heavy. The pulsing meets my sensitive clit and gives me goose bumps. This isn’t going to last long. It seems whenever I think about Asher, my climax slams through me. My center clenches at the need to feel something inside me, except there’s no way I can focus on other areas. I’m too busy letting my fantasy roll through me. While Asher is flicking his tongue along my clit, his fingers aren’t staying still. I feel his thumb at my back entrance, slowly pushing it inside my ass while two of his thick fingers work their way inside my pussy. My imagination runs wild and seems so real, it’s almost like Asher is here with me.

I change the settings with a flick of my thumb, so it goes from a steady rhythm of water hitting my center to a pulse, and as I hold it close, I push myself over the edge. A silent scream leaves my mouth, and sparks dance behind my eyes. There’s no way I can keep pleasuring myself all alone. Soon enough, this won’t be enough. Then what’s a girl to do?

March your ass over to Asher’s house and offer yourself on a silver platter. You act like he wasn’t looking at you wrapped in nothing but a towel. Let go and live, Lennon.

My inner conscience is a bitch tonight. She’s also right. There’s nothing wrong with seeing where things couldpotentially go with Asher Fontaine. All I need to do is act on it and not behave like a bumbling, stumbling idiot.

“Good luck.” Talking to myself in the shower is a whole new low. I push myself to my feet and get on with washing my hair and body. Tomorrow is a brand-new day and start to my new life.

9

ASHER

“About time you showed up,” Johnny greets me at the entrance to his office at Undercover Lovers. He owns the nightclub in the city outside of Whispering Oaks, is married to his job and his life here. The same goes for Matthew and Luke. Both of their jobs require them to stay close to their buildings. It works for them and us others who live in the same town we all grew up in.

“Yeah, yeah. Everyone else here?” I ask.

“Nope, only Trent, Jagger, and myself tonight. The rest got called in, have a deadline, or whatever fucking else.” Jagger steps back as I walk through the doorway. Everything here is black and chrome. The same goes throughout the club, until you get downstairs. That area is closed off, and only VIP members of the exclusive type make their way down there.

“Fuck, well, I guess I’ll catch up with them next time,” I say, making my way to the small bar area Johnny has set up.

“Hear you got a new neighbor,” Trent says from across the room.

“Yep, Estelle’s niece.” I don’t elaborate. I’ll tell them when I’m damn good and ready.

“Heard she works at Luke’s office,” Jagger interjects. My head whips around at that little tidbit of information. Luke is an obstetrician/gynecologist here in Oakview.

“Do I even want to know how?” I ask. My friends are a bunch of gossip mongers.

“Probably not, but I’ll tell you anyway.” Trent takes a sip of his bourbon. I opt for a beer. Jagger is probably drinking tequila, and Johnny, well, he’s more than likely not drinking. Whenever the club is open, he wants to stay sharp as a tack, saying he’s always gotta have his eyes and ears to the floor.

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