With the rise and fall of my chest, the draping of the robe at my shoulder slips to the crook of my elbow. The material catches on my nipple, barely containing my breast. Enough of my cleavage is on display for Jedd to pause in his kisses.
“How long has it been, Bee, since a man savored you?”
A quick retort rests on my tongue, stopped short by my teeth clenching. What man would want to savor me? I think, but the twinkle in the midnight of his eyes tells me this man wants me. At least at the moment.
“Never,” I croak because my throat doesn’t work, and I can’t move my tongue properly to form more words.
His hand moves across my skin, not a smooth stroke but a hesitant skitter until he’s just under the weight of an achy breast.
“May I?” he whispers directly at my ear, the question mixing with his breath. May he? Can I do this? I must give some sort of affirmative because the thick pad of his hand covers my entire breast, and my knees weaken once again. My head falls back to his shoulder, and my eyes close as I’m experiencing the tenderest touch I’ve even known. Without hesitation, he pinches the ripe nipple between his forefinger and thumb, tugging forward just enough for the pull to ache, and I whimper in pleasurable pain. In deep lust. In desperate desire.
I want this man’s hand to move everywhere on me. Considering he’s only using one hand, the only physical hand he has, he’s driving me mad. A cyclone of want swirls inside me: Kiss me. Tease me. Please me.
He releases the nipple and returns to massaging the weight of my breast.
They’re small, I think, and Jedd speaks as if he heard me. “The fit is perfect. Right in the palm of my hand,” he mutters, still rough and scratchy and all Jedd.
Jedd, Jedd, Jedd. Ms. Mabel was correct in her pronunciation of his name. Thrusting and sexual, I want it to grace my lips.
I consider turning toward him because I should return the pleasure. Howard always demanded it be equal—a kiss for me, then one for him—but I don’t want to move. I don’t want this sensation to end. Selfishly, I feel desired in a way I’ve never been desired.
Jedd’s hand releases my breast, and I softly purr in protest. His lips curl against my neck again, and our eyes lock in the mirror. His palm returns to my belly, pausing while we stare at one another for a long minute.
“Now, I’m the curious one…” His voice drones, reminding us of him catching me snooping through his things. Reality slams into me as I realize I still don’t really know Jedd. I mean, I watch him every day. I recognize the gait of his stride, the curve of his shoulder blades, and the shortness of his hair, but I don’t know him know him. What’s his story?
My expression must says something to him, along with another reality check—headlights outside my window. The stream grows brighter, and I’m aware Hannah’s pulling up the drive. What’s she doing home so early? The question doesn’t linger as Jedd slowly retracts his hand, and I want to protest. My eyes prickle with liquid, blurring the mirror before us like we’re blurring lines.
He lives in the barn. He’s borrowing my land. There’s nothing between us.
Or there shouldn’t be.
Why not? my body cries as he presses a quick kiss to my neck and then moves his hand to right the edge of my robe, returning it to cover my shoulder. He stands for a moment with his one arm crossed over my chest, holding the material in place over my clavicle.
“This doesn’t get rid of me, Bee. I’m not going away,” he states, his voice a little louder, more Jedd’s normally heightened tone but with confident assurance. He’s leaving my room but not my home. The loudness startles me, and I flinch against him. Releasing his hold, he takes one step back. His eyes watch me before he nods once and then steps back again, disappearing into the darkness outside my bedroom.
I’m left feeling flushed but chilled from his absence. Flustered as well. What just happened here? I hadn’t said more than a few words to him, but none of them would equal the three words I feel for this man. Confused. Frustrated. Yearning.
When I finally come to my senses, holding my robe at my shoulder with my arm over my chest in a similar manner to the way Jedd held me, I question if I’ve dreamed the entire thing. Was he really in my room? Did I just project him into a fantasy? Yet his warmth loiters. His touch lingers. The scent of him remains.
“Momma, did I just see Jedd leaving the house?” Hannah calls out as she enters through the kitchen. I smile to myself, noting I’m not insane. Jedd Flemming just kissed my skin. He touched my breast. He was here. He was real, and I don’t know how I should feel about it.
Chapter Sixteen
[Beverly]
To my surprise, the container I left for my patron’s dinner rests in the sink the following morning, along with three flowers in a colored-glass bottle set on the table. My eyes travel to the back door, unable to see through the room-darkening shade covering the glass. I should warn Hannah about our unknown neighbor, the homeless man. She works hard, and I shouldn’t be offering extra helpings of dinner to this stranger, but then again, I shouldn’t shun a man in need, especially after he helped me. He appears to be thanking me for my generosity with the mini bouquets and his small notes. The singular B on the Post-it has been turned into a bumblebee image, blending the bumps in the letter to the wings of the busy pollinator. The drawing is rustic but whimsical, and it makes me smile to see it next to the bottle holding flowers this morning.
Along with the flowers is a collection of ingredients: lye, distilled water, and coconut, olive and palm oils.
“What’s this?” I ask Hannah when she enters the kitchen midmorning.
“Good morning, Momma,” she addresses me, a silent reprimand for not greeting her properly.
“Good morning, sunshine. Now, what’s this?”
Hannah peers at the table after pouring herself a mug of coffee. She shrugs. “It was on the table last night when I came in. I thought you knew as you mentioned Jedd was dropping something off.”
To explain Jedd’s late-night presence, I did say something to that effect. This collection of bottles supports it, but it doesn’t explain what the collection intends to make.
“I guess I should go ask Jedd to explain himself.” Hannah smiles into the coffee mug.
“I guess you should.” There hasn’t been any mention of the night Jedd tossed me into the tub. I’m grateful as I don’t like confrontations and deep conversations, but I’d be open to whatever Hannah needs from me. I hurt her that evening, but I’ve also had to grapple with my own emotions about what she’s done to me over the years. She’s enabled me, allowed me to bury myself deeper into needing her instead of forcing me to accept myself and stand on my own two feet. Then again, it wasn’t up to her to make me see myself. If there’s anything I took from Alcoholics Anonymous years ago, it’s that the only way I could get help was to admit I had a problem and then accept that the only means of change was through me.
A brisk, unexpected bath in an outdoor tub can be the same kind of wake-up call. A baptism of sorts. A phoenix rising up from a pool of water instead of the fiery ashes. Maybe I’m another kind of mythological creature.