BOMAW 1-3 (10 page)

“Hello?” His voice was soft, while deep and masculine; the timbre of it reaching to her core.

“Hi.” She swallowed, afraid.

“Hi,” he returned, not sure who he spoke to.

“It’s me…Sylvia,” she informed him nervously.

“Sylvia! Wow, what a surprise! Is something wrong?” he asked, stunned to hear her voice over his phone. He looked across the kitchen at the refrigerator door that he’d left open to answer the phone. He was starving. He’d been painting most of the day and hated to stop when his rhythm was just so. There were days when he struggled with one of his paintings, and others, where the talent seem to flow from him. Today had been just one of those days, ending just a half an hour ago because the hunger grew sharp.

“Nothing…I, uh, well…echm…umm…” She gulped and swallowed deep, then with her eyes closed as if not seeing would block her embarrassment, she softly climbed out on the limb. “I haven’t had dinner yet and I’m hungry, and I thought maybe you would be, too…I mean, if you’re not…that’s fine…but I thought we could maybe…well, keep each other company a couple of hours. Play some pool, maybe shoot some darts…whatever you’d like to do,” she finished, sighing in relief to get it out. She could hear him chuckling through the phone line.

“Whatever I’d like to do, hmm?”

She could hear the grin in his tone as well. “Well, not
whatever
! You know what I mean.”

“I see.” He snickered. “I think, dear lady, that your timing is perfect. I also happen to be hungry—
starving,
in fact. Sure, I’d be delighted. Is there anything I can bring…um, maybe a bottle of wine or something?”

Smiling and giddy, with the nod of her head Sylvia answered, “Sure. A bottle of wine would be nice.” What a relief…it hadn’t been as hard to do as she thought.

“I’ll be over in about thirty minutes then. I need a shower. I have paint all over me and I worked out earlier, I better take care of that. Trust me—you would not care for the smell of me right now.”

“Well, I guess you better head for the shower then. See you when you get here.”

“Lady, I’ll be there with bells on.”

Hanging up, Sylvia paused a moment to savor the delicious thought of his presence there, but for only a moment did she pause. Heading back to the small kitchenette counter, Sylvia unwrapped the steaks, rinsed them off, placing them on the thawing plate, making sure to season and marinade them. She then opened the frozen shrimp tray, placing them in cool running water to aid in a faster thaw. Grabbing the logs, she dashed up the stairs and stacked them by the fire. She gave her home a quick survey to make sure everything was as it should be. Satisfied, she closed her laptop, placing it neatly on the end table to anchor the pile of papers. With that spot tidy, she rushed to the stereo and started her 25-disc CD player, setting it on shuffle mode. The first soundtrack to start the evening was Stevie Wonder's
You are the Sunshine of My Life.
Smiling at the atmosphere playing Stevie in the background set, she hurried into her bathroom. Her intention was to do a quick wash-up, but second thought had her stripping down and starting the shower. Pinning her hair up out of the way, she stepped into the warm, invigorating spray.

Again her intention was for a fast shower, but with him on her mind...it did something to the way she was suddenly feeling. Her body was responding to her thoughts, stimulating every nerve ending and making her skin ultra-sensitive to every caress with the sponge netting and fragrant cream wash. The spray of the warm shower pelting against her skin was soothing as she lathered up one arm, slow with pleasure, turning gently in a dreamy state so that the tiny jets had her tingling as it bounced off of her back and buttocks. From her arms, the lathering bath continued across her chest, over and around her breasts. Her nipples tightened to an achy hardness, which was what it took to snap her out of it.

Stunned at her state of rising arousal, she knew she’d best hasten this shower before it led to full sexual awakening. A moment later she stepped from the shower, looking immediately up at the bath clock. Ten minutes was burned in that shower. After a rapid patting all over using a soft, thick and thirsty towel, she grabbed her bottle of lotion and stopped. It usually took her ten minutes to completely lotion her body down after a shower, which she faithfully did under normal circumstances. No time for that tonight; it seemed to her that she and the clock were in a race. Thank goodness Avon understood this, providing a lotion moisturizing spray, which of course she had, taking advantage of that post-haste. She laughed out loud as she next grabbed the feminine deodorant spray for her lower regions, and then the stick for the underarms. “Good grief! Do men go through all of this to smell good?” She chuckled in wonder at the things women did to feel good about their bodies, their carriage and the way they smelled. Turning to her bathroom vanity, she pulled open the bottom drawer and removed a little, lacy dark-red pair of undies, followed by the matching bra.

Five minutes gone. She had fifteen minutes.

“This is crazy!” she screeched, still grinning, pulling them up as they rolled with her damp, moist skin, making her laugh out her frustration trying to straighten them. Two snapping shakes to the bra and the fight was on with that. “Ooh! Would you cut it out!” she scolded the clock. It had to be a proven fact when you’re not in an urgent hurry, the bra goes on without a hitch, when you are… "Argh! I hate this thing!” this exclamation after hooking it, turning it, only to find after pulling it up and over, that it was inside out. She knew it when it hooked that odd way, but prayed it was a 'different bra'.
Not!

“The heck with it! How’s he gonna know it’s on backwards? He’s not going there anyway, so—it stays,” she declared, rushing into her bedroom pulling the straps up one arm, then the other, making the necessary adjustments on the way. “Now, what to wear?” She stopped in the center of her bedroom, running her evening casual wear through her mind. Looking at the dresser, then spun in place, looking to the closet. “Comfort!” She dashed to the closet and pulled from it a set with burgundy stretch pants and a knit multicolored top with a floral print. At her dresser she grabbed her favorite perfume,
Provocative
, and spritzed it in all the right places. Ten minutes left, according to her clock radio beside the bed.

“I am never doing this again. Why do I care how I look? What I smell like? This is not a date, after all!” she grumbled, pulling up her stretch pants, then grabbed the top to pull over her head. It caught on a hair pin. “Oh no, my hair is still pinned up!” Back to the bathroom, in the mirror, she snatched pins from her hair, shook her head, then combed it into place. “No time for makeup.” She sighed. “I’ll just dust with some powder and a little lip hue. That’s good enough.”

“Hmmm? Should I go now, or should I wait? It’s been twenty-five minutes, but I said thirty. Is she gonna be the type that needs me to be late? Or the type that expects me to be on time? Or would she find it considerate to be early? Or inconsiderate showing up early? Is she "as is" or did she get ready, too? Oh hell.” He sighed deep, running his hand through his hair in irritation.

“Damn women…pain in the ass, I swear,” this he muttered, rising from leaning on the window looking across the way. He walked to the kitchen with his stomach growling. “Hell, I’m hungry…I’m going now,” he grumped, then selected a bottle of wine out of the wine rack on the kitchen counter. On the way to the door he grabbed his lambskin jacket and headed out, putting it on as he tromped across the yard. The snow was falling in large cluster flakes and the night felt wonderful. He felt wonderful. There was something right about this night. About her, about them; she knew this too, regardless of how she protested. Obviously she was realizing this because here he was on his way to her house for dinner and a game of pool. Bottle of wine in hand, and a determination to show her that they were meant to be, no more lollygagging.

He noticed that she hadn’t shoveled her walkway to the porch yet, nor the porch for that matter. That would kill some time. He wouldn’t be late. Nor would he be too early. He would be there, but still allowing her enough time to do whatever it was that women did when awaiting men. Setting his bottle of wine down on the porch, he stepped over to the garage, opening the door he clicked the light on. Entering, he looked around for the snow shovel. There was one hanging on a utility rack on the wall.

He was late! Ten minutes late! Sylvia came up the basement stairs and walked to her living room picture window to look out across the street, when he walked past it across her front porch. She gasped in surprise, went to the door, opening it she leaned out asking, “What are you doing? How long have you been here?” He glanced over his shoulder after pushing a load of snow over the edge of her porch. “I sure hope you have dinner done, I’m starving! I’m almost done, I’ll be in in a minute.”

“Sir, if you haven’t noticed, it’s still snowing.”

“I know, but if you let it pile up, the job to remove it is bigger.”

"If you say so.” She stood a moment, ignoring the cold to look at him. She’d never met a man like this before. He stood looking back at her, then turned slowly and walked up to her. The evidence of the cold showed on the breaths he took. Sylvia swallowed, mesmerized as she stared up at him, now that he was up close, placing the shovel down by the door. She noticed that his arms were long when he braced his hands on the door frame to stand over her, his body large and warm, radiating heat despite the cold. His nose and cheeks were red. Was it the cold, dark night standing behind him with the light of her porch shining a soft yellow that made his eyes so blue…when other times they were gray? He was growing a mustache, adding to the masculinity that was already overwhelming. He was so close…so very close. Her gaze caressed his face with a soft dreaminess that she had no will to stop. From his eyes, down the length of his nose, to his parted mouth. She could hear him breathing. Her gaze drifted back up to his. Finally his voice broke the spell.

“This is the one and only time I’m going to give you options, lady. As I stated, I’m hungry, and that’s plural. Which are you willing to feed?”

Sylvia was frozen in place and unable to move. From low in his throat, there came a deep, “Emm, good choice.” Suddenly his warm mouth was over hers. His cold nose softly brushing her skin. She whimpered, feeling a capable hand at her back pulling her against him as he stepped into her front door. His warm, moist mouth tasting hers with proof to his hunger as his tongue entered to taste deeper. His body strong and hard, Sylvia noticed with her hands pressed against his chest. Easily he closed her door, never breaking the contact of his mouth on hers, turning her against it as it clicked shut. With her heart pounding, she found his other arm around her. Her body lifted against the door, pressed there by his large body. Her mind was racing with what was happening to her. She battled mind and heart. Her heart wanted him with a passion she could not deny. Her mind warning her that this was happening too soon. That she was being foolish to let him manipulate and mold her as he no doubt had done many others before her. “Nooo!” She twisted her mouth from his, breathing deep and hard.

“Please, stop. Let me down…please,” she gasped, breathless. With his pulse pumping and throbbing, Everett slowly lowered her to the floor, but did not break the distance. It felt so right, so good to be this way with her…to be close like this. “What’s wrong?” he asked with a deep, throaty timbre softly spoken, hoping to coax her back to another kiss. She couldn’t look up at him. He stood over her, his body against hers, his forearms against the door on either side of her head. She had to collect herself. She had to bring her racing heart back to normal…this was insane. “Please, move…let me go,” she pleaded softly, swallowing deep and nervous.

“Why do you keep fighting me?” he asked, lowering himself with the bend of his knees to see her face angled as it was, hiding. She had to put distance between them and pushed her way from the door, escaping the space he held her in. “Look, I didn’t invite you here for this. That shouldn’t have happened,” she said, moving towards the center of the room away from Everett. He turned to follow her across the room. “Why did it then?”

“Because, you…you did it.”

“You wanted me to.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Yes—you—did,” he enunciated slowly in an attempt to make her admit it.

“Well, I-I don’t want it to happen again. I don’t know you. I don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t know what you want—”

“I want you.”

“Well you’re not the first man!”

“I don’t imagine that I am.”

"Look, let me tell you so that you know…just like them, I’m not the one. There are hundreds of women out there more than willing to do whatever it is you need done. I’m not one of them. I invited you over tonight as a friendly gesture. The offer is for dinner. Maybe a game of pool or cards…and that’s it. You helped me out and I appreciate it. But don’t you go thinking that you’re going to end up in my bed! Because it ain’t going down like that and I mean it!” she finished, feeling her old self return. She finally felt back in control. “Now you, sir, have an option. Dinner here under my terms—or take out?” She swallowed again, unable to shake the nervous giddiness his presence made her feel. Plus, her body was still tingling with the throbbing of her lips. He sighed deep, shrugging his shoulders to remove his jacket. “You drive one hard bargain, lady. Okay…your terms.” He tossed his jacket on the back of the recliner in the living room.