I grab at the mound of pillows then the short hair at the back of his neck as he buries his tongue in my pussy,going filthily slow, his tongue curling around me. He shoves those massive shoulders between my thighs so he can trail his tongue down to my opening to lap at me, to plunge his tongue into me, to drive me crazy until he has me coming messily all over his face and expensive sheets.
And yeah, shame on me for letting him do it. And not tucking him in and going home.
But he’s back, burying his head in my lap, begging me to pet his hair, and I’m a goner.
I’m freaking falling for him.
And even though I know it’s a trap, know that he told me he wanted me to fall in love with him just to win, not because he actually wanted me, I still want to stand up in front of God and everyone and say, “I do.”
I won’t.
While McCarthy’s tracing the ill-advised butterfly tattoo I got when I was fourteen, I drink the rest of my wine then his as well, just to prove a point to myself.
I remind myself that McCarthy’s not the only asshole, because I know just how to make him the golden boy of America.
“There she is.”The beads knotted in Zephyr’s red beard tinkle softly as he holds his arms out for a hug.
“It’s good to see you.”
“How’s the problem child?” he jokes as we choose a table outdoors at the fermentation co-op and order kombucha.
What look like Renaissance-fair musicians are playing old-timey music on a low stage near the hydrangeas.
Zephyr looks placid as he sits cross-legged on his wooden chair.
“More of a problem than you know,” I mutter.
Zephyr gives me a sympathetic look. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Actually…” I hand him the printed photo. “I was hoping you could do me a favor.”
“Of course!” He beams at me. “Cute puppy.”
“That’s an almost eighteen-year-old photo.”
Zephyr frowns when I relay the saga.
“Poor guy. There are unfortunately a number of charities out there that are not, shall we say, mission focused.”
“I know! They completely traumatized him when they promised they were going to help him.”
“That’s what I’ve discovered doing prison rehabilitation work. You have to help these guys heal their inner child before they can move forward. Poor thing.” He pats the photo like he can give McCarthy a loving, fatherly hug.
You don’t have to tell me twice. I’m all about jumping on the bandwagon of helping men who don’t want to help themselves.
“I don’t know if the dog is still out there, but I’m hoping you can find out?”
“Think positive thoughts. I’ll put some feelers out.” He tucks the photo into one of the many pockets on the handwoven vest my mom made him.
“I’m so glad you called, Jenna. We must have been standing on the same ley line for a moment.”
I can feel a Serious™ conversation coming.
I take a sip of my drink and gag dramatically, hoping to stave it off. “What the hell is in this nasty-ass kombucha?”
Zephyr puts his hands together.
“I have asked your mother to join me in a handfasting ceremony.”
