Page 13 of Tangled Desires

“Later.” I hit the end button, drop my phone to the railing, and bend down to pet the midnight-black cat.

“What are you doing out here? You’re a tiny thing.” The cat keeps weaving in and out, rubbing its face along my jean-covered leg while I resume stroking the length of its back. I pick her up and bring her to my chest, figuring a sweet thing like herself must mean she’s a girl. “Come on. I should have some canned tuna inside. Hopefully, you’re weaned, because going into town will take some time, let alone finding replacement milk in our area.” I talk to the cat as if she can respond to me. It looks like on my list of things to do tomorrow is stop at a pet store and load up on everything I’ll need for the kitten. For now, I’ll make do with canned food, a container of water, a box I’m sure I have in the garage, and whatever shavings I can sweep up from the floor until tomorrow. I planned on getting started on Lyric’s house first thing in the morning, but I guess it’ll have to wait until the afternoon. It’s probably for the better. There’s still a lot to do, like ripping the carpet out, pulling down the kitchen cabinets, and starting on the drywall. The downside is, I don’t have a roll-off dumpster, which will mean making a mess in Lyric’s front yard after she worked her ass off on it yesterday.

I walk inside, keeping the cat close to my chest. Her softpurring vibrates against me, and when I place her on the ground, she doesn’t so much as move away. It seems I’m not the only one who’s starving for affection. I move through the kitchen, pulling down a paper plate and a glass bowl before fixing the little thing up some dinner and water. She’s black with specks of brown mixed in, has a long tail and bright yellow eyes.

The minute I pop open the can, her ears perk right up, the meowing goes up a notch, and I move fast in case she hasn’t eaten in a while. I place the food on the ground, the glass bowl filled with water beside it, more than ready to take a shower, have another beer, and relax for the night. Once I’ve got the cat settled, I move through the house, hitting the door for the garage and going about finding what I need for her to use the bathroom. I’m playing it by ear, hoping that I don’t wake up to a mess in the morning and figuring I might need to do some studying on what a cat needs. I grew up with a golden retriever, and losing him was hard. My parents never brought another pet in, and with my schedule, I knew it wouldn’t be fair on a dog to be stuck inside all day.

Now, it seems I’ll have a cat, and there’s no way I’ll be sticking her outside unless she really makes it known that’s what she wants. It only takes me a few minutes to locate a box and find what can be used instead of litter. A combination of wood shavings, some paper scraps from discarded plans we’ve had to re-do that were in the recycling bin, and I call it good. By the time I’m back inside the kitchen, the unnamed cat is done eating the small amount of tuna I left out and drinking a lot of the water. I place the box down,making sure I rip an entrance, so to speak, and place her inside it. She does her thing, learning the way of the land pretty damn fast, then walks out.

“You and I will get along just fine.” I give her another scratch to her chin and then head toward the bathroom. My home being on all one floor means I won’t have to worry about where she goes. I’ll just close the doors to the two bedrooms and bathroom, leave my door open, and clean up whatever mess she happens to make.

She follows me for a little while until a blanket that’s tossed on the ground catches her attention. I leave her be, needing the hot water beating down my body and my cock to finally find some relief. There’s no holding back. After weeks on end without letting myself get off, tonight, I’m taking care of business.

I shuck off my clothes, pulling my shirt off by the back of the collar and dropping it to the ground. My jeans join the pile as well as my boxer briefs once I’m in my bedroom. I keep an ear out for the cat, realizing I need to come up with a name and call the veterinarian’s office to make an appointment. Maybe I’ll call the Johnson family. Dean’s wife, Tully, has her own practice. A perk of Lennie being part of the family is having help when you need it. I keep that thought in mind and continue on to my shower.

I’m in the bathroom, turning on the hot water, ignoring the switch for the light. There’s enough coming from the two windows in the room. My gaze catches on the reflection in the mirror, my cock lying thick and heavy against my stomach. When I fist my length, pre-cum saturates the tip, and I know the minute I let myself go, it’s going to be over beforeI’m ready. The way I’ve kept myself from fucking my hand, it might be a two-session kind of night. I move away from the mirror, more than ready to bring up any and every fantasy I can conjure of Lyric. I’m going to start off with what I wanted to do today, her bent over, hands on the oak tree, as I lift her dress over her ass and see what she’s unknowingly teased me with.

I let go of my dick, reluctantly at that, open the glass door, and step into the tiled shower, making sure to close it behind me. The steam envelopes me, and the hot water sluices across my taut muscles. I rest a palm on the wall, my hand returns to my cock, and close my eyes. In a different world, Lyric would be here in front of me, completely stripped bare, hair slicked back, eyes riddled with desire, and moaning my name. I’d have her plastered against the wall, legs wrapped around my hips, hands digging into my scalp, and her pussy pulsing along the length of my dick.

“Fuck,” I mutter. My hips roll with each downward stroke, a slow twist of my wrist. My thumb gliding over the head of my cock comes away with more wetness than ever before. I’m already on the damn brink of coming in my hand, and I’ve barely gotten started. Lyric and I may have some differences to work out, but it won’t be long until I succumb to needing her any way I can have her. I keep working myself, my grip tightening, my balls drawing up, and my spine starting to tingle. The velvet clench of her cunt spurs me on as I take my fantasy to the next level, mourning the loss of her pussy as I pull out. Her eyes plead with me, begging me not to leave her, and I keep her steady until her feet are planted on the ground. My hands mold to her hips,spinning her around, taking her hands and pressing them on the cold tile, pushing her tits against them and watching her body shiver with desire. Lyric hisses out my name, arches her ass in such a way that she’s gagging for my cock to be buried back inside her slick, wet heat.

“Lyric.” My voice goes hoarse as I picture me behind her, my fingers pressing into her fleshy hips, watching as she pushes her ass out even more, and the only thing I can do is fist my cock. I rub the head along the lips of her cunt, feeling her saturate me, and it damn sure isn’t water from the shower.

My fist pounds on the tile, wishing like fuck Lyric were right here in front of me. I look down. The head of my dick is red and angry, tired of holding back, and when I picture sinking into her with a force so solid there’s no holding myself back, my head tips back and I come on a solid roar with one woman in mind. I’m done playing it safe. There’s no more holding a grudge. Lyric Skye will be mine one way or another.

Any and all energy I had is zapped. My thoughts of going a second round have long since left. Clearly, I’ve been holding back entirely too long, going weeks, maybe even closer to months, without giving in to my basic need. I finish my shower, washing away the evidence of today and the cum I’ve painted the wall and floor with, then turn the water off. If I stay in much longer, I’ll turn into a damn prune. I open the door, step out onto the rug in order not to bust my ass on the tile floor, and grab a towel. A few swipes across my face, head, and chest, and I call it good before wrapping it around my waist.

I walk out of the bathroom, hearing a soft trill in my bedroom. My eyes lock on the little bundle of black fur, bright eyes staring back at me, and it’s clear she’s looking for attention.

“Find yourself a makeshift bed, huh?” I move toward her, bending down to stroke her belly because she’s lying on her side, using my shirt to burrow into. “I’m going to have to name you, and then we’re going to have to somehow convince Lyric that I’m not an asshole. You think you can help me with that?” She doesn’t respond. Instead, I’m given a meow, a clear sign she wants more rubs. I do her bidding, coming up with a plan while I’m at it, one that involves Lyric.

10

LYRIC

It’s been three days since I’ve seen Jagger, or his parents for that matter. I received the estimate the same day he came to look at my house, and I signed the contract after my eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. It seems Eleanor talking about giving me a discount well and truly succeeded. At first, I felt terrible, then I called Naomi. She assured me from what I told her about Jagger that he wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want to. She also told me to sign on the dotted line, write the check, or in this case pay the first half through the attached invoice, and to stop worrying over nothing. Naturally, I did what she suggested, then, because I worried myself sick, I went for a walk with my trusty notebook in hand.

I went to the coffee shop, Oak & Brew, and grabbed their signature drink of the week, a hazelnut and chocolate iced coffee. I also grabbed a cheese Danish, asking them to warm it up before I headed to a park bench beneath a mature treealong the red-bricked road. When I was finished with my pastry, I let my feet do the walking, navigating through the streets while I looked at shops and kept my eyes peeled for a ‘Help Wanted’ sign. There were two, one at a thrift shop looking for a cashier and the other at an accounting firm looking for a receptionist. I jotted down their numbers and made a mental note to check in on them when they were open.

When I was finished perusing, I wrote in my journal, and this time, there were no tears. Thank goodness. Plus, there haven’t been any since I sobbed on Jagger like the loser I am. Yay me.

Sunday, I put on my glad rags, went back to my house, and tackled the backyard. Another day of working in the heat, using muscles that haven’t been worked in a very long time, and a headache the size of Texas formed. A clear sign of dehydration that had me ready to throw in the towel.

Nevertheless, I persevered, much like I always do.

The yard is completely mowed, the hedges are trimmed back, the weed eating is done, and I even pulled the overgrown vines off the detached garage. By the time I finished, hunger had set in. Running off coffee and a breakfast from the Inn had long since vanished. My clothes were too dirty, and I was too sweaty to go inside. A quick drive to a fast food joint on the edge of town only to scarf it down on the drive helped me in not delaying my shower. I conked out, phone uncharged, lamp illuminating the room, and the television playing softly in the background. I woke up disoriented, needing another shower because my hair looked similar to a cockatoo’s, and I had to run errands, like to the local watercompany, calling the power company, and having another conversation with Naomi. The boxes she shipped should be here tomorrow, and I’m wondering where I’ll be storing them since my house will still be a construction zone.

“Hello,” I answer the phone, not looking at the screen. It’s Tuesday, and I’m online inputting my credentials for job applications. The receptionist position is right up my alley, and I have plenty of experience in that field. The cashier job doesn’t have an online system, so I’ll have to go in person to apply. I’ve also found a few other positions I’ll be applying for as well.

“Hey, Lyric, is this a bad time?” I sit back in my seat, pushing away from my laptop, and try to control the way my core pulses at hearing the deep rugged tone of Jagger’s voice on the other end of the line.

“No, not at all.” Goose bumps pebble along my skin, raging a war because I’m not cold at all. I’m hot, so damn hot I may combust. I’m in another sundress since I brought in another bag from my Tahoe when realization really hit that my house would be under construction for a minimum of six weeks.

“That’s good. I finished up checking the plumbing, air conditioning, and electrical. I’ve got some not-so-great news to give you.” The way he delivers the message with a grunt, my eyes close, my head tilts back, and I run my fingers up the top of my thigh, pulling the fabric along with it. I can visualize him here in the room with me, his big body caging me in, protecting me yet doing all kinds of dirty things to me.

“You there?” His voice breaks through my trance. I don’topen my eyes, and I damn sure don’t stop what I’m doing. The tips of my fingers edge dangerously close to the lace of my panties.

“Hmm, yeah. I am.” I wonder what he’d look like on top of me, hair messy from my hands digging into the soft waves, his lips swollen from our kissing and me nipping at the soft pillowy flesh, sweat coating his arms and chest, droplets clinging to his hair, slowly dropping on my chest as he works his thick length deeper than I’ve ever experienced before.

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