Page 7 of A Very No Strings Halloween
“If you have bad plumbing at your apartment, why do you not move to the house?”
Ahhh, the house. A shiver goes down my spine as I think about that huge old farmhouse out in Middleborough. My favorite patient left it to me in a kind act of generosity, and it has so far been nothing but a terrifying ass ache. “Because there are a lot more issues with that house than plumbing. It’s an old, old house and a big, big project, Opa. I don’t have time to deal with it now.”
“Then why not sell the houseundbuy a condo?” he very rightfully asks.
I don’t know when would be a good time to tell him that house is possibly haunted and probably unsellable, but it’s definitely not now.
There’s a cocky knock at my front door. Thank God. I might not be able to stay awake more than five minutes. “Plumber’s here—I gotta go! I love you both. Say hi to Mom if you talk to her tomorrow. I probably won’t have time!”
“You deserve no less than fifteen minutes of cock,Püppchen!” Oma yells as I’m hanging up. “On top of the foreplay!”
More insistent banging on the door, but I can’t stop smiling. This guy bangs the way he does everything else—loudly, with urgency and confidence and his whole heart. And big, strong hands.
Fluffing up my hair and pausing to get into character first, I attempt a deep breath—as deep as my silk-imprisoned bosom will allow—and then open the door. The plumber is casually resting one hand against the door frame, holding a big toolbox in his other hand and smirking at me lasciviously. Until his beautiful brown eyes widen and his jaw drops when he takes in all there is to take in of me in this slip dress. His flannel shirt is completely unbuttoned, revealing the dark hair on his chest and abs that in no way reveal all theDunkin’ Donuts and beer that I am certain he has consumed in his life.
“That’s how you dress for work?” I ask, placing my hands on my hips.
“That’s how you dress to answer the door in the middle of the night?”
“I didn’t have time to change. My homicidally jealous and possessive ex-husband could show up at any minute. We need to—I mean, you need to get to work.”
And there’s that smirk again. “Oh, I am ready to get to work, Missus—I didn’t get your name, sweetheart?”
“Ms.Ballcock.”
“German, huh?”
“Yah. And you are?”
“Rod. Rod Auger. Here’s my card.” With the flick of his wrist, he produces a business card for an Irish pub. “Other side, sweetheart.”
I flip the card over. It just says1-800-ROD-JOBS, scrawled in blue ink. I glance up at him. He winks at me. I slip the card into my cleavage for safekeeping, slowly, so Rod can thoroughly enjoy watching me do it. “Thanks, Rod. I’ll hold on to this. Come inside.” I place my hands on either side of the door frame and lean forward to look down the hall, nervously biting my lip as my boobs press against his warm body. “Better hurrybefore anyone sees you.”
“Ladies first.” His voice is low all of a sudden, and I feel it deep and warm in my belly. “No matter how quick and dirty the job gets. Always—ladies first…” He stands totally still as I slowly pull back to meet his gaze. I trust this man, but there’s something so exciting about him. I never really know what he’s going to say or do. I just know that I’ve liked everything he’s ever said and done to me.
I step back, holding the door open, and check out his butt in those dark jeans as he walks past me. At night, he usually smells like either Guinness or whiskey. Guinness or whiskey plus something else. Guinness and maple syrup. Whiskey and cigar smoke. Guinness and paint. Whiskey and a clean hotel room. Tonight he smells like Guinness and chocolate.
“So, what’s the emergencyovah heah, Ms. Ballcock?” He kicks off his shoes, leaves them by the door. So considerate. “What do we got? Clog? Pressure issue? Leak?”
“Oh, there is definitely some leakage,” I say, squeezing my thighs together. “In the kitchen.” I lead him to the kitchen, sashaying because there’s no other way to walk in this thing. “It’s justsowet down there. Very slippery.”
“Oh, yeah? How long has this been goin’ on?”
“Ever since you knocked on my front door.” My kitchen is lit only by the range hood light, and I am not going to turn on the overheads. “It’s the dishwasher,” Itell him as I attempt to bend over in front of him and pull open the dishwasher door. “Sorry it’s such a small kitchen. Tight fit.”
He drops his toolbox on the counter with a thud, startling me, but it doesn’t startle me nearly as much as the big hard tool in his pants when he quickly, ever so subtly presses it against my ass and gently places his hands on my hips to move me out of the way. “Tight and wet. Oh no, such difficult working conditions. ’Scuse me, ma’am. I need to get in there.”
“Hopefully there’s something you can do. It’s been a while since I’ve let anyone under the hood. Is that what it’s called? The hood?”
“Yeah, sure, why not. D’you run this tonight? Or is this load dirty?”
“It is absolutely filthy.”
He presses a button and slams the door shut. “Just the way I like it.” The dishwasher cycle starts as his face hovers just above mine. I grip the edge of the counter behind me. “Fixed it.” He stares down at my mouth and roughly cups my face with one hand.
“Fixmenow, Rod,” I whisper, clutching at his open shirt, my voice trembling like the rest of me. “Hurry. My terrible, horrible ex could walk through that door any minute.”
“Let him. I’m here to fix everything and protect you. I ain’t gonna rush this, baby—not the first time.” He grunts as the palms of hishands skim my hard nipples beneath the silk. It’s heaven the way the fabric feels against my skin, beneath his warm, rough hands. “Goddamn, you are so fucking hot. You feel how hard I am already? You feel that?”
