Kim Karr - Dazed

He dips his head and finds my lips, brushing them lightly. “What exactly did you think about?”

I normally wouldn’t want to say what I’m thinking, but it’s the truth, so I say, “How you could make me come like no one ever has. How you felt inside me.”

His lips curve into that smug grin and his stormy eyes dance with pleasure. “Good, because that’s all I thought about, too. So what do you say we get out of this rain and I feed you, so we can go practice?”

“Where’d you park?”

As he pulls me closer he lets the umbrella drop to the ground. He wraps one around my waist. Then with his sexy smoldering grin, he points toward the parking lot. “Where I’m supposed to park.”

I don’t care that I’m getting wet, I don’t care that my shoes might be ruined, I stop right there and step in front of him. “What do you say we order in again?”

The past six weeks have passed by in a whirlwind. Jagger and I have been spending more than just a lot of time together. We have seamlessly combined our lives. He’s joined my evening yoga classes and sometimes he comes to my morning training sessions. He’s not a morning person though—it’s cute how much he dislikes getting up. He stays with me almost every night, and I have never had sex as much or as often as I do with him—I love every minute of it.

The movie audition has been delayed because of script issues. But regardless, Jagger has kept busy. He picked up a few small modeling jobs and last week he went for a second round of shots to do print for a big fashion house. He’s pretty excited about that. He’s also gone on numerous casting calls. He was offered a small part in a movie that he turned down because he was filming overseas and it would interfere with his audition for No Led Zeppelin. And although I’d like to say I’ve been the one helping him, he’s been helping me as well. Having someone to talk to while I go through my uncle’s belongings has been therapeutic. I’ve found photos, cards, and his complete vinyl. We also found a bunch of old sales reports, some from when Uncle Ian was Avery Wilde’s silent partner and some from Nick Wilde’s days under the Little Red label. I know Avery was very involved in his son’s career so I assume the items just got mixed up in their offices.

Once I told him about Damon and my other half, I stopped talking about work. It wasn’t as interesting as other topics. And sharing an office with Kay has been much more pleasant than I thought it would be. She’s actually really nice and doesn’t seem to have any hidden agendas. She keeps to herself and sometimes even seems nervous. I don’t ask—it’s not my business. But I have shown her all the facets of my job and she seems very appreciative. In fact, with her at the magazine, I’ve been able to come in a little bit later and leave slightly earlier—a win/win for both of us. And a bonus—Damon was really happy with the article we co-wrote about Ivy Taylor and I think he feels comfortable that the magazine is running smoothly—so he hasn’t been around as much.

This year’s Valentine’s Day was the first in a long time I actually had someone to share it with. Jagger bought me two movies. Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, and he made me dinner—chicken cacciatore. It was delicious. And over my candlelit table, he also formally asked me if I would be his girlfriend. My pulse raced at the idea of us being exclusive and we never made it to watching the movies that night. But rather, before we had even cleaned up the table, I did something right in my dining room I had done a handful of times in the bedroom with other men, but hated each and every attempt—I took his cock in my mouth. And there was nothing I disliked about it, especially after witnessing his reaction.

Despite the rumor that nobody walks in Los Angeles in the winter, today Jagger and I spent this first Saturday of March roaming the city. And now I’m coming home with a beautiful red-and-gray-checked scarf around my neck and a monogram bracelet with a snowflake hanging from it. I selected the scarf because it reminded me of him, and Jagger surprised me with the bracelet—telling me it reminded him of the beginning of the movie Through the Looking Glass and the first time we met. When he clasped the bracelet around my wrist, I knew—I knew I loved him.

When we finally pull in the driveway at River and Dahlia’s house, we are both exhausted. They’ve gone for the night to a Lakers game so we decided to hang out here.

He opens my door and just as I clear it, he slams me up against his car. “You look incredibly sexy today,” he murmurs.

My body tingles in every place possible, as the warmth of his breath passes over my mouth. I look down at what I’m wearing. Skinny denim jeans like the ones Dahlia helped me pick out a while ago, a tight gray sweater with one of my grandmother’s glass pendants hanging from my neck, and low, black ankle boots. “Really? In this outfit?”

He cages me in and I can feel his hard cock against my stomach. “It’s not the clothes, it’s the way you move in them.”

I push his hair from his eyes. “Thank you,” I say, not sure how else to answer.

I have to look away to not get lost in his eyes. Of the dozen or so relationships I’ve had so far in my life, no one has ever made me feel as wanted as he does. The sexual chemistry between us frightens me. I’ve never had this kind of connection with anyone. And sometimes, like now, I have to try to get some control.

With my breathing embarrassingly fast, I duck under his arm and head toward the trunk. “Come on. We have a car to unload and dinner to make.”

He gives me a sly smile. “Is that what you want?”

Trying really hard not to run back to him and jump him, I say, “Yes.”

He shrugs and moves my way. “Okay, then use me for my cooking skills, but I expect proper compensation later.”

I swing the totes into his arms and lean in to nip his lip. “You can count on it.”

With bags of groceries in his arms and a huge grin on his face, he waits for me to hit the keypad next to the garage door. As the door rolls open, I study the lean lines of his body and appreciate the way his muscles move holding the bags. Tonight we’re making Fettuccini Alfredo and I know I’ll have to work out extra hard this week after this meal. I don’t get how Jagger stays so thin with what he eats, but he seems to have a good routine down that I have slowly adopted—eat healthy during the week and work out heavily. Then on the weekends eat what you want. We head toward the stairs in the corner of the garage and before we reach them he motions with his chin toward the door that opens into the lower level.

“Why don’t you grab us both a sweatshirt and we’ll watch the sunset before we cook?”

“Sure, I can do that,” I nod and reach above the door to remove the key from the ledge. River and Dahlia keep one above this door and another one on top of the door that leads to the kitchen. I’ve always told them it’s not very safe, but they insist it’s fine.

“I’m not sure where they are, but I think maybe in the closet. And don’t roll your eyes at the mess.”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” I laugh.

“And don’t straighten anything out.”

This time I don’t laugh. “How did you know I was thinking that?”

He steps up to the landing and I have to crane my neck to see him. “I can see the gears turning from here,” he says, shooting me a wink that makes my pulse start to race. The sunlight is peaking through a small round window behind him, highlighting the smile he shoots me, and the ache that only subsides from time to time is back. I wonder how much time we have before the Lakers game is over.

Jagger’s things are placed haphazardly around the room, but somehow appear neat. The closet is just about empty. A few dress shirts and slacks hang from it, but nothing else. I spot a bottle of cologne on the dresser—its silver cap and clear liquid draw my attention immediately. I pick it up—Creed Royal Scottish Lavender. I knew his scent included lavender. I squirt a little on my wrist and sniff it. God, it smells of him.

Setting it down, I go about the task of finding sweatshirts. I spot one on the chair in the corner, but I’m not sure if it’s clean or dirty. If I have to, I’ll spray it with cologne and it will be fine. I open a drawer, starting at the bottom because that’s where I keep my own sweatshirts and I find a gray one. Opening the drawer next to it, when I spot something red and thick on the bottom, I remove the t-shirts to get at it. I know he likes it when I wear red, so this will be perfect. But when I see a small square black velvet box lying on top of it, my heart stops. I pick it up with trembling fingers and open it. I quickly close it and just stare.

“Either you’re straightening up or didn’t want to climb the stairs alone,” his smooth voice says from behind me.

The room is closing in on me—his scent is everywhere, his voice is at a distance, his body is so near, but my mind is in freefall. I feel like Alice tumbling through the glass.

“What is this?” I say twisting around. Wondering if it’s for me, but knowing it can’t possibly be. We haven’t even said those three little words to each other yet.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t look at the box, but his eyes convey a sadness that tell its own story. Something cold rushes through my veins as silence fills the room and I start to lose my mind. “Jagger, what is this?”

When he still doesn’t answer, tears blur my eyes. I set the elegant box back down where I found it and without closing the drawer, I stand up and head toward the stairs. Passing him, I leave the room in a daze.