Lady Luck

  My hand still at his neck squeezed and I whispered, “I didn’t know any of that.”

  He drew in breath through his nose and looked over my head.

  Then his eyes came back to mine.

  “You’re right, baby, you didn’t. So, I’ll clue you in so you never walk into somethin’ like that again. It’s doubtful you’ll ever have done to you what was done to me so you can’t know and you’ll never know, hope to God. But I been out for eleven days. I still smell that place, hear the bars slammin’ shut, walk everywhere with one eye over my shoulder. It’s gonna take awhile to shake that. And I got that for breathin’. I did nothin’ but live my life. I did nothin’ to be punished for, nothin’ that needed reforming. Now, I gotta go see a parole officer, I gotta put up with whatever shit the Carnal PD is gonna shovel and I gotta do what I gotta do to make what was done to me right in a way that I can live with it. We’re startin’ somethin’ and, you want it open, that’s what’s on my mind, that’s what I’m livin’ with and you’re livin’ with me so that’s what you gotta live with. So for awhile, until I settle, you need to have a care.”

  “I can have a care,” I said softly and I also said it immediately.

  And just as immediately, his eyes changed and again it was a meaningful change but this time Ty would explain it.

  “Shit, what’d I do that I walked outta that nightmare straight to you?” he murmured.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “The same thing I did to drive out of mine straight to you.”

  Again, at my words, his big body stilled but this time it went completely still, immobile, like he wasn’t even breathing.

  “Though, I took a detour to the beach,” I added.

  And that was when I knew Lady Luck had started to like me.

  Because three seconds later, Ty Walker threw back his head and burst out laughing.

  And I got to watch.

  Chapter Ten

  I’m the Teacher

  Ty was in the shower, hand pressed to the tile in front of him, head bent, water cascading on his neck, back, head, his fist was wrapped around his cock and he was stroking.

  I was behind him, pressed tight to his back, alternately kissing and tasting the sleek, muscled skin, my arms around him moving on his chest, his abs, everywhere.

  I heard the noises he was making change, they went deeper and I knew.

  So I pressed my front tight to his back, my arms tight to his front and I tipped my chin back and whispered over the spray, “Finish in me.”

  He didn’t need to be asked twice. Before I could blink the water out of my eyes, he’d turned, grasped me under my pits, hauled me up and shifted me so my back was to the side wall. My legs circled his hips, my arms his shoulders and he stepped in, my back hit tile, his hands moved to my ass and he filled me with his cock.

  Beautiful.

  He drove in, pulled out, in again, and again, hands at my ass, mouth on mine alternately kissing me deep and almost brutal then soft and sweet then leaving his lips at mine, our heavy breaths mingling. If he was kissing me, we closed our eyes, if we were breathing, his eyes locked with mine, they were hot, fevered, staring deep, giving and taking.

  I kept my legs tight around his hips, an arm tight around his shoulders but I pushed a hand between us to assist his driving cock in taking me there.

  Feeling him, seeing him, hearing him, pressed against him and touching him while he stroked himself, living a fantasy I played in my head with my fingers between my legs and no Ty, one that was way better in real life with him right there as close as he could get was so beautiful, so hot, I was primed. Way primed. My finger had to move on my clit for about half a minute before the noises I made went desperate. He heard them and one hand left my ass to curl around the back of my head which was good seeing as a second after it did, my legs spasmed around him, my arm got super tight, my back and neck arched and my head slammed his hand into the tile.

  A little while later, my mouth was at his throat when his cock thrust deep and his head jerked back with his orgasm.

  A little while later, we finished our shower.

  * * * * *

  I was in a pair of panties and Ty’s tee, my hair wet, standing at the coffeemaker pouring him a travel mug.

  Ty was standing beside me, body turned to me, jean-clad hip leaning against the counter, bowl of raspberries, blackberries, banana and yogurt mixed with some of his protein powder cupped in his huge hand held high and he was spooning it into his mouth.

  It was Wednesday, two days after we became us. Two magnificent days after we became us. Asshole Ty was long gone. Taciturn Ty was a memory. He didn’t share much verbally but he shared.

  Oh yeah, he shared.

  And mostly he did this through sex. Lots of it.

  He was making up for lost time, so was I, this was true. But it was mostly that it was just that good. We managed to eat and he went to work. Monday night, he worked out after work. Other than that, we were in bed (and once we were on the couch). We’d talk in between times, before we drifted off to sleep, or I would talk, he didn’t say much and I would talk mostly in whispers. This didn’t last long before he turned into me with intent. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hear what I had to say, it was just that we had better things to do.

  I shouldn’t compare Ty with Ronnie and wouldn’t tell Ty that, in my mind, I did.

  But I did.

  I couldn’t help it. I’d had two lovers and they were night and day.

  Ronnie, hit and miss. He tried but sometimes he failed and I didn’t have the heart to tell him he did or where he went wrong. It upset him when I did; he’d go into himself or get mildly pissed so I learned to stop doing that.

  Ty hit, every time.

  This would have freaked me out, how good he was at it, but thinking on it, it didn’t. First, he had a great body and he was in command of it. Not just during sex but all the time. Second, he was strong as in very strong. Ronnie was no weakling and took care of his body as a matter of habit and survival. But the strength of his lean muscle was nothing in comparison to the power behind the bulk of Ty. And Ty used his strength during sex in a dizzying variety of delicious ways. Third, Ty was seriously hot and, prior to his incarceration, he had to have had his fair share of practice and then some. And last, Ty had already proved he was generous and sex was no different. He saw to me, sometimes twice (once three times) before he took care of himself. He never left me hanging or took care of me after. Not once.

  It was phenomenal. So phenomenal, I didn’t mind that there was no further heart-to-heart sharing from Ty. What he was giving me, all of it, was just fine. Better. It was perfect.

  I moved to him, set his travel mug on the counter by his hip, got as close as his bowl would let me, leaned a hip into the counter and instantly started bitching.

  “Seven o’clock is a ridiculous time to have to be at work.”

  His beautiful eyes on me, he chewed, swallowed and replied, “Told you, you don’t have to get up with me.”

  Yeah, right, like I’d miss taking a shower with him. Not gonna happen.

  I communicated this with my eyes and a tip of my head. He read it loud and clear and his lips tilted up at the sides.

  Then he spoke again. “Seven o’clock means gettin’ off at four unless they need me to do overtime. I could do nine thirty to six thirty but I like the evenings clear. Don’t sleep late, that time in the morning would be a waste.”

  “Mm,” I mumbled and his lips twitched.

  “Mama, fuckin’ you in the shower, doable. We really start to play, I won’t wanna go and how are you gonna get deck furniture if I don’t have a paycheck?”

  He had a point.

  And he called me “mama” in his soft voice. That was a new one. I liked it.

  Not to mention, I was discovering we seriously needed deck furniture.

  “Whatever you wanna do, honey,” I muttered.

  “Yeah,” he muttered back, shoved the last spoonful in his mouth, chewed
, swallowed then dipped his head to touch his lips to mine and moved around me to get to the sink, saying, “Gonna hit the gym before I come home. Be back at around six.”

  I turned with him so I was facing him when I replied as he put his bowl in the sink and walked back to me, “Right. Anything you want for dinner or are you gonna do a shake?”

  “Food,” he said, making it to me, putting a hand light on my hip and leaning his face close. “Whatever you make, I’ll eat.” He again touched his mouth to mine then said against it, “Later, Lex.”

  “Later, honey,” I whispered against his.

  He bent his head forward an inch which touched his forehead to mine and he did this for half a second before his forehead and his hand went away because he’d tagged his travel mug and was sauntering to the stairs.

  I watched him until he disappeared then I warmed up my coffee, took it out to the sunny deck and sipped it at the railing, taking in a view I knew I’d never get used to.

  I saw the view, I loved the view but mostly I loved that standing at that railing, this time, I felt full. Sated. Replete.

  And I hadn’t had breakfast.

  Once I hit the bottom of the mug, I wandered into the house, refreshed my coffee and then wandered up the steps. I went to my lingerie drawer, dug under my stuff and pulled out the glossy violet and ice blue folder. I opened it, pulled out an eight by ten then replaced the folder in the drawer.

  Then I wandered down the steps to the pantry. I pulled out a thick, brown paper bag that had a red stamp on the side with some lasso-style ropes around Old West-style words that said “Carnal Country Store”. I took it to the island, set the picture and my mug down and dug stuff out of the bag that I bought in town yesterday after I had my job interview.

  Carnal Country Store was a gift slash souvenir shop. They had a multi-theme going. Old West slash Colorado Mountains slash Bikers slash Country. It was wild but it worked. There was a lot of wood. A lot of antlers. A lot of feathers. A lot of buffalo. Being Carnal, which was definitely a biker haven and not the pedal kind, it also had a bunch of biker stuff. This was intermingled with an abundance of full on country wares that were mostly really cute but not my style (or Ty’s) and some local artisan stuff which included some seriously kickass pottery. And, luckily, for those with a discerning eye and because it was the only gift shop in Carnal (except the florist who had a few frames, vases and knick knacks – not having a job and with time on my hands I’d definitely spent time perusing what Carnal had to offer, so much I had it down pat), they had some nicer stuff too.

  And I said this was “luckily” because, although Ty was born in that county, he was not a feathers, antlers, buffalo, biker or country wares kind of guy.

  So I got the stuff I got and it was pricey but since Ty paid for nearly everything, I had most of the wad of cash Shift gave me to finance my journey, so I went a little crazy thinking some Shift in an alternate universe would want to give Ty and I a wedding present (or, as it turned out, several). I also went a little crazy because it was “nice shit” so it would fit.

  I pulled out a beautiful, wide-edged, beveled silver frame, took off the back and then put our wedding picture in it. I turned it around after I secured the back and there we were. My dress. My bouquet. Ty in his suit. Me smiling bright and big. Ty looking hot.

  I studied it thinking, at the time that photo was taken, I would never have guessed two weeks later I’d spend that much money on the perfect frame for that picture because that picture needed the perfect frame.

  But I did because that picture needed the perfect frame.

  I smiled at it then I walked it to the living room and put it on the sleek, polished wood mantel set into the stone hearth above the fireplace. It was the only thing there.

  Still, it looked good.

  Then I went back to the bag and yanked out the thick folder that held the photos I processed at the kiosk in the grocery store. I also pulled another frame out of the bag, this one six by eight with a simple but thick, matte black edge. Then I flipped through the photos I developed to find the one I knew I wanted. Ty and me and Moab, shot from waist up, my cheek to his chest, my arms around his middle, his arm around my shoulders, our shades directed at the lens, an infinitesimal section of Moab our stunning backdrop. I framed it and put it in the deep sill at the window over the kitchen sink.

  I went back to the island, sipped more coffee then again hit the pantry, pulling out the two, bigger bags. I took them to the island and unearthed from bunches of tissue the three charcoal gray matte pitchers with their spindly handles in black gloss, rim, lip and inside that same gloss. Three of them, one huge. One not as huge. One a little less than not as huge. I arranged them in a circle in the middle of the island. Out next came the wide, flat bowl of the same. I grabbed the bananas and dug in the fridge for the apples and oranges, assembled them in the bowl and put them on the short side counter between the stove and the fridge. I cleared away the bags and tissue and set the pictures on a side counter to show Ty later.

  Then I went to the cupboard, found the sugar bowl and creamer and set those at an angle opposite the frame in the windowsill. I looked from bowl and creamer to pitchers to big-ass, kickass fruit bowl and was relieved to find I was right. They complimented each other perfectly.

  Then I grabbed my mug and took a sip, my head moving in a slow swivel to take in the entirety of my handiwork.

  Something was missing.

  I knew what it was, put my mug down and dashed up the stairs, digging in the back of my lingerie drawer; I pulled it out and jogged back down the stairs.

  Then I set the Treasure Island snow globe in the middle of the deep sill over the kitchen sink where the picture was angled in a corner and the sugar and creamer in the other. I’d see it every time I did the dishes. And I liked that.

  I moved to my mug, picked it up, backed up until my hips hit counter and then surveyed the scene.

  It wasn’t much of a stamp but it was something.

  And every bit was perfect.

  Even the snow globe.

  I grinned to myself and walked my coffee upstairs to get dressed.

  I had a house to clean then groceries to buy and then I had to find a craft shop.

  * * * * *

  That afternoon, I drove into the mechanics, my eyes moving between the three large bays at the same time searching for a parking space.

  I’d driven by the garage many times since I hit Carnal but had never been there. The tarmac outside was huge. A little office up some cement steps to the side of the bays. A plethora of bikes and cars all around. Garage sounds coming at me through my open windows.

  I found my spot at the very end in front of the office, parked, shut her down, got out and rounded the trunk, eyes to the bays.

  Then he came out, light gray-blue coveralls unbuttoned to the waist, the top of them hanging down making it look like he had an upside down shirt hanging from his hips. He had on a white wife-beater that must have been in his workout bag because he left in jeans and a tee. He looked hot even in that getup, what with the muscles and tats on display, but he could probably wear a pink polo shirt with the collar turned up and look hot (though I hoped he never did).

  He had black grease stains on his wife-beater, all over his hands and up his forearms.

  And I didn’t care.

  I also didn’t care that I had on strappy, super-high, platform wedges. I still ran flat out across the wide expanse toward him and didn’t stop even as I noticed he saw I wasn’t going to. So he did and he braced right before I took a flying leap into his arms.

  Those arms closed around me, mine closed around his neck and I was suspended several inches off the ground as my hand curled over his short-cropped hair and I pulled his mouth to mine.

  Then I laid a hot, wet one on him.

  After I did that, I tore my mouth from his, kept my arms tight and asked excitedly, “Guess what?”

  “Lex, got grease all over me. What the fuck?” was his taking-al
l-the-fun-out-of-it response.

  My arms gave him a squeeze and I repeated, “Ty! Guess what?”

  His lips twitched and he asked, “What?”

  “Dominic at Carnal Spa gave me the job!” I cried loudly.

  At that news, his arms gave me a squeeze and he muttered, “Good news.”

  “Uh… yeah!” I exclaimed and he set me on my feet but didn’t release me, just bent his neck deep so his face could remain close (ish) and his eyes could hold mine. “I just got the call. No way did I expect that he’d hire me because I’m not really local… yet. But he did! He said I have the flair and comportment, his words, that screamed ‘Carnal Spa’, also his words, and the minute he saw me he wouldn’t have chosen anyone else. I start next Tuesday.”

  “Happy for you, babe,” he said softly, his eyes warm, his lips tipped up at the ends.

  “Me too,” I replied. “I mean, it’s ten to four with half an hour lunch break so it isn’t full-time and it’s about two cents over minimum wage since I’m a glorified receptionist but still. He said that he might hire another stylist and is definitely hiring someone to do facials and with the extra business they may need another hour or more. Isn’t that cool?”

  He didn’t respond verbally but he did give me a full grin so I took that as agreement he thought it was cool.

  “Let’s celebrate,” I declared, pressing closer to him. “Tell me what your favorite meal is and I’ll make it for dinner tonight. Get a bottle of sparkling wine or something.”

  “Celebration doesn’t say you cookin’ my favorite meal and wine from a grocery store. Celebration says me callin’ The Rooster and gettin’ us a table.”

  I tipped my head to the side and asked, “The Rooster?”

  “Steak place up the mountain. Fuckin’ great food. Top-notch.”