Page 51 of Mornings By the Linden Tree
“Do you think dribbling some toum on the Baymont triple lutz with an Egyptian camel spin would get me in trouble?”
Oh. Oh, I see. This was his way of asking for me to be that bossy top he so enjoyed. That I could do. Hell, I’d be happy to play this game.
“Trouble no, but I would insist on seeing you mix your seed into the spill and then lick it off the duvet while I fucked you from behind.”
“Shit, yes.” He gave my dick a hard squeeze, then unbuckled his belt with lightning speed.
The man was out of the car, takeout bags in hand, and jogging to my front door before I could lower the stereo. I had to laugh at his enthusiasm. I also had to adjust my prick, then force myself to think of something that would deflate my dick. Baseball stats. They say that does it, but only if one actually knows baseball. Instead of dry numbers about batting averages, I dredged up my memories of my property law and practice class from college. Dear Lord. Nothing was more boring. Adverse possession, concurrent ownership, and easements all delivered in the undead voice of Professor Wimbley, the world’s oldest actively teaching law professor. Surely, the ancient bastard had to be three hundred if he’d been a day. We used to joke that he had been the lawyer who handled the real estate transfer of Monticello when Thomas Jefferson’s nephew purchased it.
Within two minutes of recalling those classes, my dick was a soft as feta cheese.
It worked well because Mrs. Cole was wide awake when we walked in. She buzzed around the living room like a bee on crack, tidying up as she went on and on about how darling Valeria was, and how well-behaved the angel had been. A marked improvement from this morning when she had takena timeout for calling me a mean poop face and throwing her slipper at the wall in a pique. All over me saying she could not have real cookies for breakfast. She had, quite cleverly, argued that I let her eat cookie cereal. The girl had a real talent for tactics. She’d go far in law. I noted her point and then reminded her that cookie cereal had some nutritional value—some, not much, but some—while real cookies did not. It was a weak argument. Truthfully, my case was full of holes, but she was only four. Instead of picking up the thread to demand I show any kind of proof, she had resorted to histrionics, breath holding, name calling, and slipper-heaving. All of which resulted in her being placed in her timeout chair as the bailiff—Mrs. Polkowski—fetched the slipper and placed it beside the sniffling, pouting little girl.
“Would you like to join us for a late dinner?” I asked Mrs. Cole.
“Oh gosh no, you two boys enjoy your meal. I’m going to go home, take a hot bath, and watch the newest episode ofThe Golden Bachelorette.” She bussed us both on the cheek. I tossed the keys to the Lexus to Lennon so he could take his mother home. Of course she argued, but we’d not hear of her walking or taking the train. Once they were off, I went to check on Valeria. She was curled up in her bed—yes, in her bed—with stuffed bunnies piled around her like a wall of plush protectors. We’d not fully discovered what or whom she feared would steal life from someone as they slept, but with lots of counseling and reassuring from me and Lennon, we’d come up with the bunny defense perimeter. It worked four nights out of seven of late, but four nights of solid sleep were a blessing.
Her hair was braided neatly. Mrs. Cole’s gentle touch. The blanket was up under her chin. I ran a hand over the coverings to smooth them, then bent to place a kiss on her hair. She smelled of baby shampoo and cinnamon. I felt certain that if I searched the kitchen, I would find signs of cinnamon toast feasting. Ichecked the nightlight, giving it a small wiggle to make sure it sat in the wall socket properly.
Knowing I was being fussy, I left the happy room with the bunny murals and went back downstairs to set the table while warming the takeout in the microwave.
Lennon returned just as I was filling our glasses with water. He gave the simple yet elegant settings, complete with candles, on the dining room table a quirk of an eyebrow.
“Yes, I know we discussed food in bed, but upon further reflection…” I waved at the meal awaiting us. He softly laughed as he toed off his sandals. I looked at them lying beside his chair.
“Do not touch those. Sit down. Let’s eat, then retire to the boudoir for some of that sexy stuff you were teasing me with.”
I sat, but not without a quick peek at those sandals lying there all haphazardly. “You’re the sassiest bottom I have ever known.”
“Thank you.” He gave me an impish wink as we tucked in as Percy used to say. I wondered how he was doing. We had not parted well. I’d thought of reaching out to touch base, but then felt as if that might make things worse. A cut with a sharp knife hurts less. “Everything okay?”
I shook off the thoughts of my ex-gentleman caller. “Yes, fine, sorry. I was lost in the past. Do you think I’m a particularly cold person?”
He paused in stirring his steaming food to help it cool. “I’d not say cold. Distant, yes, at first, but once you get to know a person, you warm up. I can say there are times you’re smoking hot.”
I chuckled while peppering my shawarma. “Thank you. You bring that out in me. I suspect that with my past friends, I merely went through the motions. They didn’t inspire me as you do.”
“I’m flattered. And half hard.” Valeria moaned in her sleep, the soft mewl floating from the nursery monitor resting on the china cupboard in the corner. We had them in every room of the house. To think that only a year ago, the only things I hadwired up in each room was a household stereo system. My how the times have changed. “I’m so happy you’re feeling so much for me.”
“I am. I wish I could express it better,” I confided, falling into silence as we ate. Lennon, knowing I needed a bit of quiet time to regroup, dug into his food, smiling at me with cheeks full to make me titter, then shake my head. The man really was a ray of sunshine. The food was excellent, as always, and we tidied up after we were done. Lennon carried the dishes to the sink to rinse and place them into the dishwasher while I wiped down the table with a damp sponge, then dried it with a soft chamois to remove any water stains from the dark cherry wood.
“Hey,” he said as I was replacing the lace table runner, his words warm on my neck as he hugged me from behind. “You sexy thing, you.” He nipped at my neck. I rolled my head to the left to try to see him but only got a snootful of blond hair that smelled of lime and Lennon, a most potent combination. “You hear that?”
I cocked my head, thinking to catch the sound of a child’s night terrors starting, but no. There was nothing but the hum of the central air. “That’s quietude. I think it needs just a little touch of Paul and Art.” His lips roamed over my neck as the opening strains of “Song for the Asking” wafted upward from the cell in his front pocket. I turned to face him, pulling him closer to me until there wasn’t room to slip a piece of paper between us. “How’s that for ambiance?”
“That is perfect. Much like you.” I lowered my lips to his as we moved to and fro, our feet sliding smoothly over the hardwood floor, as one song ended and another began. His tongue met mine eagerly with a swipe that sent pulses of lust to my groin. The dance led us around the table as we leisurely tasted each other over and over. His lips were soft and touched with exoticspices that made me want more. Soon, the dance devolved into grinding against each other.
“Bedroom,” I growled as I left his mouth to nip at his earlobe. He shivered and nodded, allowing me to lead him around his sandals to the stairs, up, up, up, until we were standing beside the bed. “Take off your clothes. Quickly.” I closed and locked the door behind me as he flicked on the monitor on the nightstand before he pulled a tube of lube from the drawer with a smoldering look. Oh this man did things to me…
He rushed to comply, flinging the lube to the bed, then tugging and unzipping with such speed that I had to smile. When his cock bounced free, slapping his belly and leaving a smear of precum, my balls began to throb.
I plucked his tawny nipples, both at once, as he liked, and got a soft exhalation sort of whine that made me mad with desire. He let me tug at the tiny buds as his cock leaked to the top of my bare foot.
“Lay down, darling,” I whispered to him, claiming his mouth in a sweeping kiss before he clambered up onto the bed while I disrobed. He watched intently, licking his kiss-swollen lips, as I slowly took off my clothes and placed them neatly atop the bureau. Moonlight peeked through the vertical blinds, falling over him in white stripes that made his pale skin milky.
“I want to ride you,” he said, his breathy words stirring me up even more. My cock, now free from the confines of cotton, stood rigidly at attention. I gave it a long stroke, enjoying how his pupils blew out.
“Get yourself ready,” I replied as I sat down on the bed, then swung my legs onto the mattress. Simon and Garfunkel were still playing from his phone, lying on the floor inside his pants. I fought the urge to pick it up for him, but let it go. The soft music and the touching lyrics of “Scarborough Fair” felt perfect for the moment. I surely would not ask my lover to
