He rubbed her arms as if she was the one who was chilled. “I’m not that good on the piano. I’m a better percussionist.”
She channeled Vera’s style of incredulity. “Is that so?”
“Jesus, Mena, why couldn’t you just say nice things about my dick.”
She leaned toward him, so their foreheads came together. Had no one truly ever loved this man, made him understand his value, not in terms of fame or dollars, but in the everlasting currency of truth and honesty and loyalty? “You are a talented musician, an amazing performer, vital to the success of Lost Property. An intelligent study of people. A generous friend. A perfect lover. Your choice of motor vehicles could do with some work, but you are not going to end up in rehab or homeless, Grip.” They were both breathing hard. “I won’t let that happen.”
He was quiet, his hands unusually still. Had she gone too far, not far enough? She wrapped her arms around him and eased her body closer. She burned with the need to make him understand his own true, enduring worth.
“Do you realize how hard it is to be a successful clown? In history, jesters and fools were the quickest witted, most savvy members of the royal court. In literature, they’re symbolic of common sense and honesty. In tarot, an upright fool means new beginnings, originality, adventure, and a fool reversed means fearlessness, taking risks.”
He shook his head to interrupt, and she put her finger across his mouth. “Clowns are the most versatile members of a circus, the bravest athletes in a rodeo, the most beloved of doctors.” She took her finger away. “You can try to sell yourself short to others, but I’m not buying your act, Mark Grippen.”
His arms tightened around her, and he made a low sound, part lament, part growl, in her ear. “I’m going to have to fuck you now, Mena, because that stuff coming out of your mouth is so hot. That okay?”
“Make me glow, Grip.”
Kissing down her neck, he made it impossible to view her place in the world as anywhere but joined to him, because she loved him for his monster truck and his old Honda and his kids’ program and his electricity on stage and his modesty and humility and oh holy mother of galaxies, what he could do with his big wide hands strumming her body and his talented dick, making her see stars.
If she hadn’t sensed the need in him to say with his body what he couldn’t with his words, the snap of rubber was her warning. He tackled her orgasms as if he owed his life to them, feeding them to her one, two, in close succession, making her tremble and gasp, braced over her, one hand tipping her pelvis, the other working her over possessively in a rhythm that was designed to slay her.
“Too much, honey?” He palmed her breast, squeezed with just the right pressure.
“Never.”
He settled at her side on his stomach. “You’re the best hangover cure I know.”
“Flatterer.”
“Can’t have you thinking I’m soft.”
She lifted her head to peak at him, squinting. “Well, right now.”
He bounced his hips on the bed. “I don’t need a hard cock to make you come.”
“I don’t think I can do that again. You worked me over very properly. I’m not sure how either of us are still awake.”
He leaned over her and they kissed, a feast of each other’s lips. “If I can make you come again will you stay the night? Spend Sunday with me?”
She would do that for one of his smiles. She would do it to be near him because he lit a little flame in her chest and that was why she glowed.
“You don’t have to do that.”
He said, okay and then kissed her neck, used his tongue and teeth to make the contact change temperature from sugary to salacious and back again. She could not predict his mood, the beat he’d play, and he changed it up to keep her guessing. She was already panting when he got to her nipple and a combination of tongue flicks, slow licks and sucks made her dig her fingers into his thick hair to hold him to the task. He riffed; a flick, suck, tug on her piercing with a cool stream of breath laid on her throbbing nipple. It made her press her heels into the bed and arch to his touch.
When he pulled away, she whimpered in frustration only to be delighted when he vaulted across her body to work on her other side. This time he added his fingers to the mix, gentle strokes of even pressure where he was taunting with his mouth.
“I can’t. I really can’t.”
“Bullshit,” he mumbled against her skin and then stopped cold, lifting his face to look at her.
“Nooooooooo.”
He gave her a mock confused expression for all of two heartbeats before his grin killed the pretense. “You want this?” He ducked his head and licked her like an ice cream.
“Yes.”
“You want this?” He circled her clit and made her hips jerk, but just the once and she needed more.
“Yes, you absolute knob. Yes.”
“You’ll stay?”
She stopped trying to get herself off on his still hand because she heard the insecurity of that request. It was real and raw and reminded her that the weekend would end and she needed a plan to deal with the fact that she could not leave him.
With her palm to his face, she nodded. “I’ll stay.”
“Yeah?” Still doubting.
“I want to see if we can stick with our clothes on too.”
He took his hand away and she howled in disbelief.
“You said clothes on, so I thought . . .” he shrugged
