Page 57 of The Art of Being Merry
“Dax, hi?” she asks. Of course, she’s confused. It’s a random Monday morning, and I’m showing up at nearly the ass crack of dawn out of the blue. I’d be more surprised if she weren’t confused.
“Hey. I come bearing the gift of a Merry Mintmas.” Standing at the bottom of her steps, I don’t miss the way her eyes light up with my comment, nor the way her tongue licks the seam of her lips.
“What’s the occasion?” She crosses her arms over her chest and leans up against the doorjamb.
“Monday.”
Her eyes narrow, and I prepare to be called out on my bullshit. Instead, she stupefies me. “Valid. Mondays suck, and it’s already been a day.”
I ascend the steps, handing over a cup of the magical potion. “This won’t cure everything, but it’s a good start.”
She makes quick work of taking a small sip. It’s probably too hot to gulp, but a small taste should do the trick.
Her eyes flutter closed, and an exhale releases. “Fuck, that is some good stuff,” she declares, opening her eyes, her gaze focused on me. It’s unreadable. “I don’t know whether to thank you or hate you for this.”
“It can be both. You can thank me for the kind gesture but hate that you love it so much.” She’s speechless at my words, so I prattle on. “I have a proposition for you. Are you busy?”
“It’s not like I’m going to sit on my couch and eat bonbons all day, but my schedule isn’t insane today. Not yet anyway. Despite how it started with Jace’s early wake-up, besides the grocery store, two loads of laundry, and finishing a client’s proposal, there seems to be some downtime available. What did you have in mind?”
“Providing you with an orgasm.”
Perhaps I should have waited until she didn’t have a sip of drink in her mouth, but it’s too late now. Thankfully, I’m to the side of the spray.
Clementine spews the liquid in front of her, sputtering and coughing while it hits the porch floor. Her eyes are wide, and when she gathers her wits, she says, “Damn you making me waste delicious coffee. For sure, I hate you now.”
I hold mine out to her. “Take two sips as payback.” She eyes my cup like it’s poison. “I promise they’re the same. Want me to take a sip first?”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m hesitating. I’m worried you’re trying to poison me.”
“If not that, then what?”
Her eyes blink in slow succession, staring at me like I’ve grown another head. She opens her mouth, but shuts it almost immediately. Nervously, she looks around, scanning the nearby area. “Come inside,” she hisses, attacking my arm with her fingers, tugging when I don’t move fast enough. She’s frazzled, and I’m not sure I like that I’m the cause. I didn’t come here to upset her. I came to help her.
Clementine slams the door once we’re both inside, slumping against it, her chest heaving as if she ran a marathon. “Are you crazy?”
“No?” I answer with a question.
“If not, why are you on my porch shouting about providing orgasms?”
“I didn’t shout.”
“Not the point,” she yells, getting more worked up. Except as I take her in more astutely, she’s not upset so much as turned on.
This I can work with.
I set my coffee cup down on the table, remove her cup from her tight grip, placing it down next to mine, and crowd her personal space. Her jaw works side to side as she stares up at me, her eyes open wide.
“Do you not want an orgasm?” I fling into the air, wondering what she’ll volley back with. When she remains silent, I press, “You said you had some free time. How much time are we talking?Enough for foreplay and the main event or a quickie? I’m good with either, just need to get into the right mindset.” Again, her jaw drops, but no sounds emerge. Not even a squeal of surprise. I step closer, my finger twirling in the one tendril of hair not wrapped in the bun. “If this isn’t something you want, I can leave.”
“No.”
I quirk a brow. “No, it’s not something you want, or no, I shouldn’t leave?”
An internal battle rages behind her eyes, something I’m not privy to. I don’t know which side of the debate she’ll land until she speaks. I’m prepared for either outcome, but I’d much prefer to stay and dole out an orgasm. But if she doesn’t want this—I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t—I’ll respect her decision and leave. I haven’t had time to be all worked up and turned on, though it won’t take me long.
After several minutes, Clementine blows out a breath, her eyes closing with the action. “No, you shouldn’t leave.”
Hallelujah, my insides rejoice.
