Decker's Wood (15 page)

ANDI

Decker seemed different. His body seemed to be rid of the tension he had been carrying in his shoulders the last couple of weeks. Instead of wicked and bold, his smile was now honest and untroubled. Since the moment he had turned up in my store earlier this afternoon, his attentiveness towards me had become a little more intense, but not intimidating or forced. He was no longer forcing his crass humor or witty and seductive remarks on me. He was just being Decker. He seemed happy to just be with me, plain ol’ Andi. I wasn’t sure what had changed, but it was sudden and surprising. I could analyze it until the
cows came home, but I didn’t want to. I just wanted to take whatever this was that he was offering me, and worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. I mean, it wasn’t like we were making a lifelong commitment or anything. Even if he was retired, he had still been a porn star. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. There were many times I had been tempted to Google his name, but fear held me back. By this time in his life, with the career he had embarked on twelve years ago, his list of conquests, both socially and professionally, would be insurmountable. It made me feel a little ill to think about it, so I did what Andi does best, I switched it off and didn’t think about it at all.

“Oh, come on. Cannabis? An herb starting with C?” Lionel groaned.

Decker shrugged. “It’s an herb. What’s the problem?”

“Lionel is a Scattergories Nazi, if you haven’t already noticed,” said Casey in a conspiratory voice. “Give him five minutes and he will be on his iPhone looking up the rule book.”

I was starting to feel the light buzz from my third glass of wine. Decker’s legs were caged around me and my hand had found its way to his foot that was now resting in my lap. We were entwined like a cozy old couple, and I liked it. With the boldness of alcohol in my blood, I was happy to allow myself the little make-believe scenario I was creating behind the safety of my thoughts. Even Vanessa’s seductive, unwavering gaze in Decker’s direction couldn’t drag me from my happy place. I needed to pee though. For the last four rounds now, I had been holding on, determined not to break away from Decker’s touch.

“PUSSY IS NOT A BREAKFAST MEAL!” Lionel cried with exasperation.

Decker chuckled as he sat lazily back into the couch behind me. “Not for you maybe,” he purred, “but I love nothing more than sweet, wet pussy for breakfast.”

I saw the heated desire in Vanessa’s eyes. Imogen, on the other hand, blushed like a virginal nun. I was laughing so hard it hurt. Unable to keep the flood gates closed any longer, I jumped up and ran for the bathroom.

Having quickly done my business, I stopped briefly to observe myself in the mirror as I washed my hands. My eyes were glazed with a euphoric buzz, and my hair was a mess, hanging in untamed ringlets over my shoulders. I pulled the unruly mess off my face and admired my neck. I had a nice neck. Not too long like a giraffe, but not too short like a neckless pug. I had an elegant neck, like Debra Messing. Green eyes with a few flecks of grey, like Debra. My nose was smaller and I had freckles, but still hot, like Debra. I smiled then snorted as I let my hair down. Shit, I was tanked. Pushing the door open, I stepped into the apartment only to find Vanessa snuggled beside Decker on the couch. My heart slammed hard in my chest at the sight of her sitting so close to him. Decker wasn’t actually touching her, per se, but he sure as hell wasn’t attempting to put any space between them. Casey jumped up and scampered towards me, his eyes round with alarm.

“Okay, Cinderella, let’s get you another glass of wine,” he sang in a low voice, dragging me to the kitchen while a low growl began to emanate from my chest. “Oh shush, you sound like a cranky kitten.” I turned my glare on Casey who promptly shoved a glass of wine in my hand.

“Two minutes and thirty-eight seconds!” Lionel called out. My brow furrowed in confusion and Casey rolled his eyes.

“I called a
timeout. Each player only gets one five minute timeout every thirty minutes, like I said, Scattergories Nazi. Now, Vanessa is harmless. A little drunk right now…”

“You do remember what happens when she gets drunk?”

“I know, Vanessa the Undresser, but she’s still one glass away from letting the girls have free reign. Vanessa wouldn’t be all over your man if you made it clear that he was, in fact, your man. She might be a lightweight booze whore, but she does not touch what belongs to someone else. The simple fact is, she is under the impression that Decker does not belong to you.” He gave me a challenging stare.

“He doesn’t belong to me,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Then suck it up, princess, and back off.” I took a deep breath through my nose, ready to sucker punch Casey. “Or,” he held up a finger to my lips to prevent the outrage from spilling out, “go mark that man as yours. Damn, girl, pee on him if you have to.”

I cast a sideways glance at Decker and Vanessa. She was still sitting practically on top of him, her boob smooshed up against this arm. Decker was sitting, seemingly unaffected by her closeness. Decker wasn’t mine, but he certainly had been acting like he wanted to be mine. I gulped the wine back fast, a little liquid courage, and handed the empty glass back to Casey.

“That’s my girl,” he said proudly, slapping me gently on the butt.

I flicked my hair back and strutted to the living area. What was I doing? Marking Decker as mine? What if he didn’t want to be mine? What if I didn’t want to be his? Hell, I had fallen into the Decker fantasy far too many times over the years to delude myself into thinking I didn’t want something between Decker and me. But he was a porn star for Pete’s sake! Ex-porn star, I reminded myself. Suddenly, my mind whipped back to reality when I realized I was standing directly in front of Decker and everyone around me had gone quiet. What now? I was certainly not going to pee on him. Vanessa gave me a curious glance, not even attempting to put any space between her and Decker. I spun around and reached for my stereo. Oh my god, I couldn’t do this, could I? I flicked the player on and skipped to song three. I gave Casey a panicked look, but he was watching me with wide eyed excitement, the kind of look a girl’s daddy might reserve for graduation day. He looked so darn proud, I simply couldn’t disappoint him. Carrie Underwood’s, “Cowboy Casanova” filled my apartment. This was a take it or leave it moment, an instant that would be burned into my memories and brought up at Sunday dinner with the grankiddies. I was as nervous as a whore in a church, but I would kick my ass if I woke up tomorrow knowing I had been too chicken to do this. One life affirming moment coming up.

As Carrie began singing about her Casanova, I began dancing for mine. I had taken lap dancing classes in college, so I was all over this baby. I rotated my hips and swung around to give Decker my back. Casey squealed and Imogen laughed loudly as my hips moved, my hands ran up my body, through my hair and stayed up above my head. Then I leaned forward and grabbed my ankles, gracing Decker with a great view of my flannel covered ass. When I felt the warmth of his legs behind me, I turned around and used my knees to part his. I swiveled my hips as I danced in front of him, and I was filled with a surge of confidence at the obvious lust in Decker’s honey colored eyes. I rested my hands on the back of the couch so my breasts were directly in front of his face; the move also forced Vanessa aside. Vanessa the Undresser might have stripping down pat, but no one danced over a lap like me. I climbed up on the couch and turned around so my ass was directly in front of Decker, and I began to sway my hips again. Not really feeling the same sturdy stability of the floor beneath my feet, I stepped down from the couch and straddled Decker’s lap. My hips kept moving in time with the music, my head was thrown back, my long hair free and floating around me in a haze of rocking and swaying. The cat-calls behind me spurred me on. I wasn’t just feeling the music, I was breathing it which had helped me tap into my inner vixen. The heat in Decker’s eyes, well hell, that kinda made me feel like Wonder Woman. I didn’t stop, not once, my body all fluid motion, constantly touching Decker in some way. It was the single most empowering moment I had ever experienced. My lap dancing classes most certainly called for a lap to dance on, and it was usually my hapless roommate, Samantha. Dancing for a man, for Decker, was a whole other kettle of fish. When the song finally drew to an end, I swung around to level Decker with a stare that would hopefully encompass everything I was feeling in that moment. He obviously got it as his hands snaked out and dragged me back into his lap. Then he kissed me, and it was no pansy-assed chaste kiss. It was one of those rated R, way too hot for public kisses. His tongue was moving against mine, dipping and tasting, delving so deep I lost track of whose tongue was in whose mouth. His lips were soft and warm, moving over mine with an expertise I refused to think about. I hadn’t kissed many men, but the few I had were sloppy and clumsy. I usually pulled away feeling as though a Great Dane had mauled my face. Decker though, wow, he kissed like a man who had spent his life perfecting the art. He finally drew away from me, leaving a gentle, tender kiss to the corner of my mouth that belied the fierceness of our connection.

“Your five minutes are up,” came Lionel’s whispered voice from somewhere behind us.

“Home time!” sang Casey.

When I went to pull away, feeling more than a little embarrassed over my brazen hussy moment, Decker’s hand gripped my thighs and pulled me forward until I was pressed against the hard, hot length of him. Holy bejeezers, the heat radiating from him was scorching and too tempting. Damn
, I wanted this man like I wanted to breathe.

“Thanks for the game and the wine,” Decker murmured, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Any time! Don’t forget you promised Lionel and I lunch this Saturday.”

Decker and I were still staring at each other, trapped in a gaze full of need and awe. Then Decker’s lips were back on mine, his hands holding my cheeks in place as he plundered my mouth. My hips had grown a mind of their own as they began to move against the obvious hardness under his ridiculously thin cotton sweats. Decker suddenly stood and my legs automatically wrapped around his waist. I squealed a little as he began to move towards the bed. There was no gentle placement like in romance novels, where the man tenderly lays the woman back and presses her into the soft mattress beneath her. No, he threw me. THREW ME! I bounced amongst the pillows before snapping my head around to glare at him.

“Don’t move!” The command in his voice had me go still, freezing in place. Decker grinned, his smile wicked, his eyes full of hunger. “I’m going to go down stairs and lock up. When I get back, I’m going to unwrap you like the fucking gift you are.” Then he was gone. My eyes were still fixed upon the place he had just been standing, my heart beating wild and out of control, my body throbbing with a pulsating awareness I had never felt before. I couldn’t do this, could I? Of course I could. I mean, it was just sex, just knocking boots, a natural occurrence between a man and a woman, between me and Decker. I was gnawing at my bottom lip now, panic beginning to consume me. Bradley was going to ream me a new one for this. When I spoke to him three days ago and told him how sweet and helpful Decker had been, he had become freakishly quiet. Then in a low murderous voice he had said, “Don’t you dare let Decker wet his whistle in Andi Town.” I had laughed. Perhaps laugh was an understatement, I had howled, hooted, snorted and cried, then did it all over again while Bradley kept patiently quiet on the other end of the phone line. Then I had settled down and explained while funny, it was also a touch disturbing when he spoke about some guy wetting his whistle in ‘Andi Town’. Ew, just ew!

But Bradley wouldn’t know about this. It was my life and none of Bradley’s business who wet their whistle in Andi Town. If anyone had earned the right to take a ride on the Decker train, it was me. I’d been lusting after the man for almost half my life. I deserved a turn. In my heart though, I knew that it wouldn’t just be ‘a turn’. It wouldn’t be ‘just sex’. This was me, after all, and I couldn’t roll in the hay with someone I didn’t care about. I’d tried once and failed miserably. Sex meant more to me than just a night of flippant, unbridled sex, no matter how awesome it might be.

“You’re going to pop a vessel thinking that hard.”

I hadn’t even heard Decker return, my mind so wrapped up in its moment of panic, I hadn’t
noticed him approach the side of the bed, my Team Jacob shirt tossed aside. He stood before me now in nothing but those ridiculously tight sweat pants, his erection tenting proudly against the fabric. Even through the thin barrier of clothing I knew what lay beneath it would meet the hype and expectation.

“If you want this to stop, you should say something now.” I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Without warning or preamble, Decker pulled his sweat pants down and stepped out. My mouth should have dried with shock, instead, it began to water with anticipation. I had never thought of a man’s dick as gorgeous. I mean, the ones I had seen usually hung awkwardly to one side. When not engorged with angry, red desire, they were languid and lumpy, housed with a garden of thick, dark vegetation and propped above a pair of ugly, dangly sacks that I had come to think of as manjigglies. Decker’s penis though... Oh boy, his was long, thick
, and very, very hard. The color was ever so slightly darker at the base, fading to a dusky shade of pink at the velvety head. And he was manscaped! His pubes carefully trimmed back to a neat dark patch above his dick, his tight balls completely smooth. He didn’t even have a happy trail.