December Rain (29 page)

“Yeah, he’s always like that. Just wait. He’s not the guy you had dinner with... he’s a ball of stress. My dogs probably need to unwind from being around him all week. I wish we didn’t have to go anywhere, but I don’t even have coffee, so we’re like code red in the happy home department.”

He’s so cute when he’s silly.
Monica gets up and grabs the leashes, sparking a flurry of excitement. They head a few blocks down Grant Avenue realizing the cold gray day is perfect for cuddling with a movie.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow night?” she asks.

“New Year’s Eve? We have plans.”

“Really? Where?”

“It’s a surprise.” His wicked grin makes her tingle. There’s definitely something sexy about his secret, but she can’t figure it out. He refuses to tell her even a hint and keeps changing the subject.

“How did you make out in the DVD division? Did you get some good ones?”

The question did what he wanted, distraction. She fills him in on her fights with Alex over their movies and the arguments over many other things like CDs. Quinn listens supportively the whole walk back up the hill knowing he might be able to surprise her after all.

He brings up her moving arrangements and insists she let him take care of it. By the time they make it up the flights of stairs she not used to, she’s too tired to argue about something so wonderful. “Who wouldn’t want someone else to deal with their move?” he says.

Well, usually she wouldn’t, but she feels different after their trip. She feels a deep trust developing and support growing with him that she doesn’t fight. She surrenders to his control and snuggles up in his bed.
Their
bed. They flip on a Bill Murray marathon with their snacks and a fire blazing to drift in and out of sleep for the rest of the day. Recovering from their long adventure might just be the highlight of the week so far.

December 31st - Saturday

Quinn hangs up his phone as he walks down the stairs. Monica is searching around the kitchen looking for the basics, plates, pans, maybe a mixing bowl. He stops in the entry way to watch and sees she’s stressed and uncomfortable. “How about we open everything up,” he says, pulling drawers out and opening cabinets. “I am certain you have better reasons for where stuff should go than I do.”

She laughs. “Are you forgetting my DVD organization method?” Quinn stops near the fridge and smiles, immediately retracing his steps to close everything. She gives him a playful jab in the arm. “I’ll get used to it. It’s just gonna take a while.”

He pins her against the island. “Feel free to move anything you want. This is our kitchen. This was always meant to be our kitchen.”

She can feel the incredible heat from his chest as he presses closer. His ready lips taunt as his eyes devour hers. She gives in to a heated kiss, but keeps her hands tightly gripped to the counter. When he pulls away she mutters, “I’m going to make breakfast.”

Quinn raises an eyebrow. “I know what I want to eat.”

She shoves him back. “You’re impossible.” But she’s already having a hard time standing her ground. “How can I function when you’re getting me hot all the time?”

His attention and lips are on her neck and earlobe. “It’s your fault.”

She continues struggling for words. “We, have to... try to, live normal. Talk about every day, things.” Her breathing is getting shallow and rapid as her nipple perk.

“Okay,” he says, then licks her lobe, “I ordered movers for next weekend.” His sentence is punctuated by a hand sliding up the back of her shirt.

She exhales and closes her eyes as his thumb grazes the side of her bare breast. “Really? I’ve never... had movers. Sounds-”

Don’t say expensive.
He lunges at her pouting lips and hoists her onto the counter. Their tongues taste with excitement while their hands move in the frenzy. He ditches her shirt across the room before pushing her to lie back on the cold marble. Her breasts perk more when a chill breaks across her skin. He watches her writhe for a moment, so beautiful in only her burgundy lace panties. “I remember these from first time I was in her house.” He runs his finger along the edge and then presses his thumb to feel her wetness soak through.

She props herself up on her elbows to watch him yank the panties to the floor and dive between her thighs. His large firm tongue swirls with force, while his stubble intensifies each movement. He holds her hips tight and pulls her into his face hard.
Holy shit!
She lies back down, twitching in his control as he starts a primal feast.

Her body stutters back and forth on the marble making her skin burn. The slight pain eases as her sweat helps her glide along the surface. She opens her eyes and sees her breasts slam up and down, framing his shaved head. Holding it in her hands, she comes with loud intensity. She tries to catch her breath, but he won’t stop. Quinn’s fingers add the finishing touch to a second and third wave of tingles that send her into a giggling, sensitive mess.

A sly smile takes over his face as he puts her upright. He smacks his lips and taps her hip. “Thanks for breakfast.”

She looks around dizzy, for her shirt and panties. He tosses each item to her before walking down the hall to the stairs. “I’m hitting the shower. You coming?” he asks.

Breakfast never happened after the shower thanks to the long nap he provoked. They spend the early afternoon finally doing their own things on computers or phones. Monica organizes her change of address situation while he sketches out some new ideas, and they start finding a groove.

After a while her stomach starts growling again and she remembers the mysterious plans they have tonight.
Should I eat a light lunch? What am I gonna wear? Shit. I don’t have anything here.
She runs to the closet to assess the situation. “So, what should I be wearing for this secret night out?” she shouts.

A devious smile takes over and he puts down his sketchpad. “Something sexy.”

“Yeah, I really don’t have anything here.” She pulls out one of her thin sundresses from Hawaii and shakes her head.
This is all wrong.

“Then we should go get something before stores close.” He leans against the double doors watching her frustration.

“Is this formal or holiday party attire? Is it dinner or a show? You gotta tell me something about it.”

“It’s a supper club. A secret supper club.”

She can tell by his face there’s more to it. “You’ve got a look. Makes me nervous.”

“Oh yeah?” He moves closer as if he’s going to kiss her, but shifts to the drawers behind her. He opens the top one and riffles through her lingerie and panties. He moves to the next drawer and the next unsatisfied. “We better get going. It’s almost two.”

“Seriously?” she asks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about it yesterday when we could have canceled.”

He froze. “We wouldn’t have canceled even then. People don’t cancel this place. It wouldn’t reflect well on our character.”

His mysterious tone of seriousness had her even more concerned.
Am I going to be around people he wants to impress?
They throw on the first clothes they find and scurry downstairs leaving the dogs in their crates. Monica follows Quinn out the front door, but is confused when he walks down the street.

“We’re not driving? Where are we gonna go?” she asks.

“You’ve been in LA too long. There’s a shop just before Columbus,” he says.

Monica racks her brain the entire five blocks as to what stores would possibly be acceptable for a party dress. It’s been a while since she’s lived here, but most of the boutiques throughout Telegraph Hill and North Beach cater to older wealthy women or deviant Euro hipsters.

Telegraph Hill itself is quiet and holds very few businesses. Its hillsides grip proudly to immaculate homes and the oldest street in the city, as well as one of the city’s iconic structures, Coit Tower. The closer you are to the top of the hill the farther it is to a bar or restaurant, and most retail altogether. It’s only a couple of blocks down before corner markets and small specialty shops start sprinkling between apartment buildings though.

Monica scans her phone for shopping options letting Quinn pull her along. He notices a familiar looking guy smoking outside the first bar in their path. As they get closer Quinn realizes it’s Jack.

What the fuck is he doing over here? I thought they lived in Potrero. I don’t need this tonight.
Quinn looks a Monica who still hasn’t seen him
.
His eyes just miss Jack’s as he ducks back inside the bar.
He saw us. That was weird. He’s just hanging nearby, but says nothing?

“You thinking that vintage store a block over?” Monica asks.

Quinn shakes his head with a smile, thankful she’s still focused on tonight.

She sees his smirk and sticks out her tongue.
He’s loving this big New Year’s Eve secret plan. Hope it’s not like that night in college. Ended up walking home alone, barefoot. Can’t believe I didn’t catch hepatitis from the sidewalk. What was that movie that had a supper club? Marlon Brando I think...

Her thoughts are interrupted with a tug towards a lingerie store called Alla Prima. It’s a store she’s never been in, but their lingerie is known amongst the fashion world. That translates into: it’s very expensive. The store is French and elegant in design. There are antique chests holding panties and scrolled brackets carrying delicate lace garments. The space has no huge graphics or flashy music. It’s a tranquil place that sparks a woman’s femininity.

“I’m wearing lingerie to have dinner?” she asks in a whisper. Quinn takes note of the eyes watching them through the store and answers her with an eager glance.

“May I help you find something special?” the graceful sales woman asks. She possesses a sensual quality only a woman of maturity and restraint can exude.

“We are going to the gourmet supper club tonight and this beautiful woman needs something to wear,” he says.

“An excellent way to spend New Year’s Eve,” she says in a carnal tone. “I have a few items that would be perfect for the occasion.”

Monica watches as the saleswoman moves through the shop with Quinn showing him various items. She stays glued to the floor spinning in her thoughts.
The gourmet supper club? Is that the name? Is this woman supposed to know it? Why would a lingerie lady be linked to a supper club?

“I’ll put these in a room for you to try dear,” she says.

Monica’s now very disoriented.
How could she make selections that fast? She doesn’t even know my size.
Quinn’s hand slides along her back, snapping her from delirium.

“She doesn’t know my size,” Monica whispers.

“Yes she does,” he whispers back, “I told her.”

“How do you know?”

“I was just in your drawers before we left.”

Her mouth opens as she puts events together, all while being shoved into a fitting room. Before she knows it the door closes and she’s in a boudoir lined with French wallpaper, gold mirrors, and a royal blue velvet bench. On the scrolled iron hooks along the walls are satin hangers of various black lace that were evidently chosen for her. She tries to catch up to the moment, tossing her shoes and clothes off. She stands there looking at the cotton bra and panties she has on feeling out of place.

“If you would like me to help, please let me know,” the woman assures through the door. “There is nothing to be shy about my dear.”

“I think I’m alright, thanks.”

Lingerie shopping is something Monica usually dreads, depending on her weight fluctuations. It’s a pleasant shock when the first hangers holding a bra and panty set fit perfectly. The plunge style top in wide black lace is softer than she ever thought lace could be. It has no wires or lining, nor any real support, but it does look elegant in detail. Too extravagant for an undergarment. Monica keeps gliding her fingers down her breast amazed. There are half circles of peacock blue satin sewn in to partially hide the nipples, while the panties fit high and wide on her hips the way she likes. Of course, right now they’re squeezed over her cotton panties which isn’t comfortable or flattering, but on their own, they’d make her feel daring and exotic.

“Quinn?” she calls out.

“I’m right here,” he says just outside.

“So what do I wear over this?” There’s a silence as she looks at herself again. “What kind of dinner is this?”

“A very delicious one. So I’ve heard.”

“You’ve never been there?”

“No.”

“People wear lingerie to eat?” She softens her voice. “Is this a swingers thing or-”

“No, it’s just a sensual dinner. Can I see what you’ve tried on?”

Monica cracks the door. “That’s not really acceptable in places like this.” She looks around but only sees Quinn.

“He can go in there with you dear. We are all adults,” the woman says from behind a wall.

Monica lets Quinn push the door open, but immediately starts covering her torso in shyness.

“Don’t you dare cover that up.” His dominant tone is familiar. Flashes of his hand slapping her ass quicken her pulse. He steps closer and removes her hands from her stomach. Once her hands are at her side he softly releases and steps back.