Page 37 of Rumor Has It

“Isaiah!” I yell at the sound of something crashing through the ceiling of the first suite at the front of the mansion.

Hearing him moan, I punch the employee room passcode into the keypad. I can’t get the door open fast enough.

“Holy shit.” I gasp, aghast at the scene.

Thank the stars the king-sized bed caught his fall. However, plaster, dust, and debris cover everything. A plywood corner stabs through the ceiling hole above. The board is bigger than the hole, but that can’t be safe.

“I’m fine,” Isaiah grunts unconvincingly, lifting an arm.

I run over, grabbing onto his fist. My knee hits the mattress. His other hand grips my thigh. Before I know what’s happening, I’m straddling the man and kissing him, and his fingers are biting into my ass. I pull away, thinking the vice grip he has on me is because he’s in pain. I need to prove to myself he’s not hurt or that I’m not inadvertently hurting him more.

Isaiah’s face is white. My palms on his face are dusty. His lips have a gritty film on them. Based on how they feel pursing them together, mine are gritty, too.

“Are you okay?” My pleading voice sounds nothing like my own. I swipe a loose tendril behind my ear.

“I was when you were kissing me.” He chokes and coughs.

“You can’t joke like that. Not now.” I smack his chest, making his coughing worse. “I’m sorry for hitting you,” I whisper latently.

Isaiah pulls the elastic from my messy hair. He threads his fingers into the tumbling waves, drawing my face closer to his. “Seeing as I’m the one who had the pleasure of falling, and it took all of ten seconds for the good shit in my life to play out, I’m gonna disagree. Now is the best time to joke. It’s also the best time for you to kiss me and make it all better.”

He reaches for the front of my shirt, drawing my lips back to his. Isaiah’s velvet tongue strikes against mine. He tastes as perfect as anything I’ve baked from scratch. The sudden, deep understanding of why his gut reaction is sexual in nature flows from my heated core through my veins to my heart and up to my head, where logic prevails.

At least, I hope it does.

Using a soufflérecipe I discovered in Benita’s box, it took me months to perfect a gluten-free version that baked consistently each time I attempted it. Whenever I was on this side of success, the top dried out from baking too long. If it fell straight from the oven, I was disappointed because I’d psyched myself up so much that I hadn’t expected another failure. But I also hadn’t realized how much I’d learn from the process, not only honing my skills as a baker, but about myself. The mistakes I made don’t feel quite like me failing anymore. They are important chapters in my life that made me who I am.

The top is supposed to fall on a souffléin a matter of minutes. For me, the key to presentation is serving it as quickly as possible and letting the person who is eating it experience pressing the fork tines into the puffy cloud and watching it deflate.

I keep anticipating what can go wrong with Isaiah. When I’m near him, he’s a man like any other. In the hours we spend apart, his stage presence looms large and my doubts about his interest in me are overwhelming. In actuality, the big bad thing that’s going to gopoofwith Isaiah is the inevitable: He’ll return to Tennessee after the holidays are over and that leaves us back where we began. The famous singer/songwriter and the B&B chef lead mismatched existences.

I need to embrace where we are in this moment. Allow the heat to rise. Accept our relationship will cool as our purpose in being together is short-lived. Instead of searching for reasons that whatever this is between us should end now, I need to recognize I’m not in a situation where Isaiah, the celebrity, can offer more.

He’s giving me a week and a day. That is enough. That connection to him is a gift I’m allowing myself to receive. Not because I don’t think I’m worthy of a commitment from any man, but because I think I deserve an experience as good as this; as amazing as it’s been having Isaiah dote on me over the past thirty-six hours.

My desire to be closer to him ratchets alongside my concern about the fall. I want to touch every inch of his body. Inspect it. Make sure Isaiah hasn’t a scratch on him. And if he does, care for it with tenderness as gently as I move a souffléfrom oven to tray to table.

There’s no preamble to the shift of my hips backwards to Isaiah’s thighs or me tugging at his waistband and pushing up his shirt. His rough hands handle my body similarly until my shirt goes over my head and I’m clad in nothing but my bra. That finds its way off too.

My swaying breasts feel the rush of cooler attic air flowing over them. My skin pebbles and my nipples peak. Isaiah takes the invitation to palm them, proving He isn’t as frail from the fall as I worried he was.

I loosen his belt buckle. The button on his jeans. The zipper opens toward me and I shimmy to my knees. He lifts his hips and I spring his erection free from his clothes. I hear the dull thud of his shoes hitting the carpet. His knees bounce against my ass as he works his pants off. The whole while Isaiah keeps his focus on the hole in the ceiling above us without giving up on my tits. His calloused fingers’ caress makes my back curve. I thrust my chest further into his hands.

But what I’m about to do isn’t about me. It’s about making Isaiah feel good. So, I slide out of his view and hover over his crotch. I’m ready to pray to whatever god made him so incredibly sexy.

“Cass?” I glance up to find Isaiah staring at me as if he’s somehow lost me since I stopped touching him.

“You’re… Big.” Although big isn’t an accurate description. Isaiah’s beautiful cock is fully proportioned, yet mouthwateringly long. The rush of memory from the first time we got naked and he bottomed out inside of me has my panties sticking to my lower lips.

“Keep telling me things like that and my ego’s gonna get as inflated as you make my dick. Put your mouth on me.” He spreads his legs a little wider, making himself more comfortable.

Licking my lips, I graciously agree to his demand.

I take his tip into my mouth and swirl my tongue around it. I leave one palm on his bare thigh and use the other hand to cup balls. My nails tickle the underside. My fingertips massage his taint.

“Fuck yeah. That’s good, baby.” His roughened voice grits out as if having me sucking his dick is a magical cure-all for what ails him. “Don’t stop doing that.”

I keep the ministrations going, but I move my other hand to wrap it around his shaft. He swears under his breath, telling the good lord that I’m the best kind of dirty girl there is. Then Isaiah’s hips take on jerky movements, thrusting between my lips as I pump him. His palm flattens out as if he’s restraining himself. He slaps the bed, causing a dust plume like a bomb exploding. Breathing in through my nose, I try not to choke on the fine particles or gag on his massive cock. Meanwhile, his other hand fists my hair, guiding me to do exactly what he wants.

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