After the Storm Read online

  “Okay! If you want my honest opinion, she doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who needs to be impressed. From what I heard from Sloane—”

  I cut him off there; I want the gossip like a middle-aged washwoman. “What has Sloane said?”

  “Oh, this is valuable information, friend. You’re going to have to work for it. Call it collateral.”

  “Why are you busting my balls? If I recall, you were the one trying to set us up only a few months ago. Why all of a sudden are you making this difficult?”

  “Because you make it so fucking easy, man. Just relax. Didn’t you say you guys had a great time last night? If she enjoyed herself after that crying fit she threw here, then you could take her to a fucking cemetery and tell her ghost stories all night and she’d still be into you.”

  He does have a point. Willow isn’t high maintenance. And we did have a good time despite a pretty shitty start to her night. But I’m still at a loss. Why isn’t my brain working right?

  The long pause gives Blaze reason to jump in again. “Still stumped? Shit, you’re rusty on the dating front. Why don’t you just take her to Hideaway? Show her a little bit of you. I think she’ll enjoy that.”

  Hideaway. As in the beachfront oasis where we celebrated our last days with the Habitat crew. It’s casual yet classy because of the patio dining, but later in the evening live bands perform and the sandy beach becomes the dance floor. Blaze might actually be on to something. “That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said since you picked up the phone. Let me call for reservations and see what kind of entertainment they have tonight. I’ll swing by around four for the car?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” he concedes. “You can take her, but she’s low on gas and needs a good wash. All you, buddy.”

  “I don’t know what the hell Sloane sees in you. You’re such a slacker.”

  “Slacker, maybe. But only because of my current incapacitated condition. And that’s the beauty of this thing with Sloane. I’m not looking for anything and neither is she. Therefore, my friend, I can be me, she can be her, and we don’t give a shit at the end of the day because we’re not trying to impress each other. Friends don’t size up other friends the same way we dissect women for dating or fucking potential. She’s a cool chick, and for now—let’s just leave it at that.”

  I do leave it at that, even though I sense he’s hiding something. But one look at the clock tells me I have to get my ass in gear before the day gets past me. I hang up and immediately forget that he owed me some info. I still want to know what Willow told Sloane about last night, but I start my day with a positive vibe and a hopefulness I haven’t felt in years.

  Before I leave, I text Willow to give her a heads up about her shoes. I imagine her in something sexy and stylish like she wears at work, but when I envision dancing with her on the beach, I have a feeling she’ll appreciate me telling her to choose something more conducive to the sand. But she doesn’t. In fact, I think I screwed up her whole outfit based on her frustrated reply. The fact she’s so concerned about her clothing choice makes me happy. Maybe it’s a ridiculous, girly thing for a guy to care about, but whatever. Her putting thought into her appearance means she wants to impress me. Little does she know she could wear a potato sack on our date and I’d still be drooling.

  On the way to pick her up, I stop by the florist for the small arrangement I ordered. I could have gone to the market by my place, but this is nicer, more personal. Blaze caved and told me that calla lilies were her favorite—Sloane had mentioned it to him. So an exotic bouquet of purples, whites, and corals make up my token of appreciation for the woman who hasn’t left my thoughts since last night.

  When I pull up to the house, I admire her impeccable landscaping and the elegance of the grounds. My hands are clammy as I journey to her door, numb pieces of meat grasping the flowers like a lifeline. My tongue is a dry slab in my mouth, begging it to create enough saliva for hydration. It’s not until this very moment that my nerves catch up with me. I haven’t dated in a long time. I’ve been with women; I’ve had them in my bed, in my truck, at the office. But I haven’t taken one out to dinner since—

  The door opens before I have the chance to ring the bell. “Hi,” she says.

  The sight of her makes my knees almost buckle. In a flowy thigh length dress with cut outs at her shoulders to showcase her sun-kissed skin, she is the picture of California girl perfection. Her long blonde waves flow loosely down her back, with two small braids at the sides, pinning it off her gorgeous face. She’s probably wearing makeup, but if she is, it’s effortless, and gives her a natural glow that makes me lick my lips in appreciation. “Holy sh—I mean, wow, Willow! You look amazing.”

  She lets out a soft breath as if she was awaiting my approval. “Thank you.” Her eyes roam my body, taking in the crisp linen shirt and my dressier jeans that sport zero holes. When her eyes meet mine again, her smile warms my insides. “You look hot, Noah. Like, really, really hot.”

  At least we got the ice breaking out of the way. “I try.” Pulling my arms from behind my back like a pre-pubescent dweeb offering the girl of his fancy a scooping of dandelions, I present her with the calla lilies. “These are for you. I heard they were your favorite.”

  Grabbing them from my sweaty grip, her face beams as she lifts them to her nose and takes a whiff of their delicate scent. “Oh my God! I love them, Noah! They’re beautiful! Come in. Let me put them in a vase.”

  She spins around, wedging the door open wider with the invitation. I follow her, close it behind me, and admire her home. I wonder if this is the same place she shared with that asshole who left her. Not that I should call him an asshole. That asshole gave her up and made her available to me. “Have you lived here long?” I ask, still curious.

  “Kind of,” she calls from what must be the kitchen. “It was a present from my parents when I married Kurt. Now it’s all mine, every trace of that sorry jerk gone for good.”

  I join her in the impressive galley kitchen, taking in the fine craftsmanship. “They bought it new construction or did you remodel?”

  “Brand spanking new,” she answers, reaching up on tip toes for the glass vase in a cabinet above her stainless steel fridge.

  “Let me get that for you,” I offer, and rush over to her. With her arms stretched over her head, her skirt lifts up a few inches, revealing the most divine set of silky golden thighs I’ve ever seen. Part of me wants to tell her I’ve changed my mind and she should keeping reaching for that vase, but the more coherent part of my brain hurries to her aid.

  “Thank you.” She smooths out her dress and backs away to turn on the faucet. “So, I guess you like what you see.”

  Not sure if she’s talking about herself or her beautiful home, I compliment both. “I’m extremely impressed.”

  “That’s quite a compliment, coming from you. Thank you for like the fourth time in five minutes. Would you stop being such a gentleman already so I can use a few more words from my large vocabulary?”

  I have something large I’d like to use that will throw my gentleman card right down your state of the art garbage disposal, baby. I think it, but thank God my brain stops my mouth from putting it out there. “You almost ready to head out?”

  “Yes. I’m excited to see where you’re taking me.”

  “I’m excited to take you there. Shall we?” I offer my elbow and she hooks her arm in mine.

  “We shall. Now, cut this formal crap and do something to make me laugh. My nerves are wound up tight and I don’t want them to overrule all the giddiness.”

  Floored. Her bluntness leaves me breathless and washes me with relief. “Thank you, Lord. I’ve been a wreck since I pulled up to your house.” I laugh and take a glance at my watch. “We actually have enough time for a pre-dinner drink if you’re game?”

  “That sounds perfect. What’s your poison tonight? Beer or something a little stronger.”

  “Stronger,” we both say in unison. I laugh at how pat
hetically punch-drunk-silly we are acting right now.

  Exiting the kitchen, she leads me into an open dining area surrounded by windows. On the far wall, perpendicular to the glass portholes to her backyard rose garden, is an antique wooden buffet. She opens the center cabinet and pulls out two shot glasses with the phrase cheers to love, laughter, and happily ever after embossed on the front.

  “Oops, wrong ones. I thought I chucked these.” Hiding them before I ask for an explanation, she pulls out another set, this time with hit me with your best shot in pink lettering. “We can drink to Pat. What do you say?”

  “I have something better to toast to.” I pull the bottle of tequila from her manicured hand.

  With a smile, she watches me pour the golden liquid into the tiny glasses. I hand her one, and keep the other for myself, leaning over to give her a swift but satisfying kiss. “Some people like a little salt before their shot of Jose Cuervo, but I prefer something sweet.”

  We down our poison and slam our empties on the table in the center of the room. “And I usually like to suck something after my Jose.” Her grin snares me and has my dick twitching. I gulp as she wipes her mouth and attacks my neck, licks the spot below my ear, and then sucks just above my collarbone. “You were right, Noah,” she whispers in my ear. “I haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss.”

  Her hands are brave tonight, tracing the outline of my shoulders, my arms, my ass, and then all the way back up to my neck. Each feather soft touch makes me want to go all animalistic on her. I hold back until the pads of her thumbs caress my jawline as she nips and sucks my neck. I have a pretty strong tolerance to alcohol so I know it’s her hands that are intoxicating me—I’m drunk off her. And that gives me permission to be uninhibited.

  “You’re crossing a line here, Miss Jones. You sure you’re ready for that?” I don’t want to ask for fear that she might stop what’s about to happen.

  “Cross it, Noah. I’ve been dying for you to.”

  Permission. It’s a wonderful thing. I take it. Clasping her wrists in a tight grip, I pull them from my face and tether them behind her back. Bending forward to claim her mouth, I take the sweet sigh that escapes her even sweeter mouth as an invitation to taste more. My tongue samples her lips, drinking in the candy flavor of her gloss. When her tongue darts out to meet mine, I mirror the way my dick would move inside of her with sharp thrusts and deep penetration.

  “Oh, God,” she moans. Her arms fight for control. I allow them the freedom to wrap themselves around my neck. As they do, her legs follow suit, gift-wrapping my torso like it’s a fucking Christmas present.

  Cupping her ass, I savor the cock-springing feel of her thong-bare skin in my grasp. I position her on top of the buffet, spread her legs wide and anchor my body between them. She doesn’t object, and I don’t think, can’t think, about anything other than touching her, tasting her, making her body mine.

  “What about dinner?” she pants, but her hands are already undoing my button.

  “Fuck dinner.” I’m only hungry for one thing. “Food can wait.”

  “Good, because I can’t wait for you anymore.” Her lips collide with mine again, this time without abandon. Clumsy, hasty hands reach to rid unwanted clothing. Her tiny fingers inch my zipper down and dive in for a handful of greedy, ready cock.

  I wince at her touch, humming into her mouth as her hand wraps around my throbbing length. I imagined taking her romantically our first time together. I wanted to spend time—hours, even—memorizing each curve of her beautiful body, devouring every inch, but this beats all expectations. This is so much better than romantic. I guess pent up lust will do that to you.

  Unwilling to make our initial exploration of each other a quickie, I break free from our lip lock and bring her hands to my mouth. I kiss her fingertips, her knuckles, the palms of her soft hands, and stare deep into her mesmerizing eyes. “I need to taste you, Willow. You’ll be the perfect appetizer.”

  She throws her head back, sighing. Her legs form a vice-like grip around my waist, her heels dig into my ass. I unclasp her smooth limbs, scooting down so that my face is in her lap. When I look up at her for consent, her eyes are closed tight, her cheeks flushed crimson. “Is this okay?”

  “Oh my god, it’s more than okay. Please, Noah. Please . . . taste me.”

  She doesn’t need to ask twice. Falling to my knees, I lift her skirt to her hips to hook my fingers in her panties. Sliding them down her legs, I ease them off and stuff them in my pocket. “I think I’ll hold on to these until you need them again.”

  Her giggle implores me to lick my lips in anticipation of the feast before me. A smile creeps across my face at the sight of her white-knuckled grip on the edge of the buffet. I’m pleased to see her ready and willing. I start my journey at her knees, kissing her tanned skin and licking from the inside where it bends to the outside of her inner thigh. Her skin prickles with goosebumps as my tongue travels closer to the prize; my dick grows painfully unattended in my jeans. I ignore the need for my own pleasure. I crave Willow’s arousal; her salty, musky scent drugs me.

  Without even having a taste, I imagine her pussy melting like cotton candy on my heated tongue. The scent of her natural juices is enough to satiate me, but for effect I reach over my shoulder for the bottle of tequila and trickle a few tiny drops of the tangy liquid across her already wet lips.

  The cold contact jerks her body back, but not before my mouth takes what it’s hungry for.

  “Yes!” She shouts, bucking her pussy against my mouth.

  My tongue delves deeper, stiffening as it enters her. Her walls tighten around me, awakened with each flick of my tongue. I zero in on her clit, suck it between my lips and lap up the last of the tequila. At this rate, I’m not sure if we’ll even make it to the restaurant. I want her sprawled out on her dining room table, the only suitable feast for a starving man.

  “You’re going to get drunk,” she pants.

  Still between her legs, I peer up at her. The first thing to make my dick jerk is that smile. That warm, satisfied grin that has the blood thundering to my heart.

  “I don’t mind getting wasted off you, Willow. This is some top shelf stuff, if you really want know.”

  “Then by all means, drink away.” Her legs fall open, grasping the silky material of her dress and hitching it up higher still.

  “Best fucking invitation ever. My RSVP is yes.” My tongue finds her swollen clit again, circling it with slow strokes and then breaching the depths of her quaking core.

  “Noah, don’t stop. I’m—I’m so close.” It’s a desperate plea, one I don’t mind surrendering to.

  With my fingers wanting in on the action, I cup her ass with one hand, drawing her closer. The other explores her wet folds, plunging for her G-spot while my tongue drinks her pleasure. I can’t get enough, but the dulcet sounds escaping her tell me she’s about to lose control. Restraint melts away, her limbs are weak and unsteady as her pussy steers the vessel that is her entire body.

  “Oh, Noah! Oh, that’s so good. Sooooo good.”

  I steal a peek of her coming undone. Her skin is flushed pink with heat, her hair is wild and falling over one side of her face. Boosting the intensity of her orgasm, one hand massages her nipple over her dress, the other clutches on to the buffet for support. “That was—I have—holy shit, Noah! Why did we wait so long?”

  A gruff laugh rumbles in my chest. I have no idea why we deprived ourselves for so long. Stupidity?

  Rising to a standing position, I untwist her dress from around her waist and pull her panties from my pocket. “Want these back, or should I keep them as a souvenir?”

  Her eyes do that thing I love—morphing from jade green to deep amethyst. “They’re all yours. I don’t plan to need them for the rest of the night.”

  Oh, hell yeah!

  Mother of God, did that just happen? My legs are still trembling and my heartbeat hasn’t stabilized yet. So, yeah, it totally happened. I let my boss fuck me with
his mouth—that insanely skillful mouth—right here on my great grandmother’s antique furniture! Before we even had a real first date. You’re a freaking slut, Willow Jones. Doesn’t it feel divine?

  It is divine, bold, and so damn heavenly. I succumb to the bliss weaving its delicious tentacles around my veins and let it soak in. I should be embarrassed by my wanton behavior, but hell if I’m not. He liked it. I loved it. I have no regrets. Except the fact we have dinner reservations to attend to.

  “As much as I’d love to stay here all night, I was looking forward to our date. Should I go freshen up?” I tuck a few unruly hairs behind my ear, examining Noah’s hazy afterglow. If he was sexy before, this is off the charts. He’s so goddamn desirable the aftershock of the orgasm he just gifted me comes to life again.

  “As delicious as the first course was, yes, I’m still famished. I’m not done with you yet, Willow. Not just with your addictive pussy, either. I asked you for a date, and a date is what you’ll get. Go clean up, beautiful. I’ll get these glasses washed.”

  I admire his control, the way he goes about things with ease and dignity after such a vulnerable moment. It spurs an excitement in me that’s been dormant for too long. We haven’t even gotten to the main event and already I’m praying for an after party.

  Noah plates the shrimp cocktail for me, then reaches across the table to offer the horseradish sauce. “Your house is beautiful. But you’re a handyman’s nightmare, you know?”

  “Really? Why’s that?” I dip the jumbo seafood into the sauce and devour it whole.

  “Because there’s nothing to fix. Everything’s in its place, cared for, maintained. Your ex is a fucking moron. He has no idea what he’s missing.”

  I almost choke on my shrimp. It’s the first time he’s mentioned Kurt. Maybe it’s his way of broaching the topic and getting to know me better. I’m all for spilling about the past, especially since he knows the darkest crevices of mine now, but I don’t want to spoil our good time with sour memories and things I wish to forget. “Oh, he knows what he’s missing. He had it for a long time, not much left to uncover after so many years together.”