10. Esme

10

ESME

W alking through the house to the back deck of my neighbor Kelly and Greg's house, I set my envelope with a gift card down on the present table for their son's high school graduation.

A BBQ is a classic way to celebrate this momentous occasion. They have family and friends here, but also neighbors… including Keats. With what now feels like second nature, my eyes drift to him as soon as my peripheral view spots the man of my contempt.

He has a beer bottle in one hand, quickly sliding his phone into his pocket with his other, all while chatting to Oliver. Maybe it's his wolflike senses, but he must feel my eyes on him as he shoots in my direction. There is no point for me to look away, as it is obvious that we are already trapped.

Internally, I'm cursing early summer because I'm wearing a casual dress which means the only layer between him and my pussy are thin panties. I can't afford for my body to find Keats attractive or to remember the way he kisses with reverence and command. But I also remember the other day where I was a little heated with anger in his yard, with his sister breaking the scene. I'm a little bit mortified from it all.

I'm nearly startled by a hand touching my elbow from the side. "Thank you so much for coming," Kelly greets me.

My eyes zip away from Keats, and I offer her a smile. "Of course, you must be excited for Ryan and the big milestone."

"We are. College flips my mind upside down. He's grown so fast, and it will be hard having him around less, but luckily, we still have a ten-year-old to keep us busy."

"Not a dull moment then."

Kelly glances away then her eyes draw a line back to me. "I guess you two must have a truce or something since neither one of you have ripped the other to shreds yet."

I smirk to myself. "Yet." My brows rise from the reality of how I communicate with Keats.

We are so ridiculously immature and even we know it.

"Anyhow, I should make my rounds. Ooh, did you see Mrs. Tiller knitted Ryan a hat for winter? He'll never wear it, but it's still adorable."

I chuckle. "I can guess that wouldn't be a major fashion choice, and of course, make your rounds. Thanks for inviting me."

My smile drops when I realize the inevitable looms. I can't erase the other day in my state of crazy, nor can I avoid Keats in a backyard. Inhaling all of the air I can, I gear myself up and tread in Keats's direction.

Immediately, Oliver gives me a polite smile before his eyes swing to study his friend. The man whose eyes are fixed on me and making me feel anxious.

Oliver is the first to speak up. "Good to see you. You know what, I think I'm going to grab a burger now and catch up with my brother." Oliver tips his bottle up to me, and the man is smart to disperse into the party .

"Isn't it funny how we all call him Sheriff Carter even when he's off duty, but everyone just seems to roll with it." I'm puzzled.

Keats doesn't reply, but we are alone now. No way am I going to grovel, but I'm not going to cause a scene. I don't wish to fight with him.

"Hi," I begin softy with a weak smile.

"Hey."

"Seems like we both had the same idea... to drop off a gift and steal some food." Small talk is a start, right?

His lips roll in, and his entire body seems to be in neutral mode. "Or we both had an invite and it's the polite thing to do to make an appearance... and yes, nabbing some food is also a bonus."

The brief pause appears to mean that we are both on the same level of awkwardness. But I take the plunge.

"I'm sorry." It bursts out of my mouth. His eyes haven't moved, which is why my gaze sinks down to the wood paneling of the deck to avoid his eyes, and he patiently waits for me to say more. "I'm sorry, okay? There I said it."

"Care to elaborate?"

Damn it, he's really going to draw this out for his personal enjoyment. "Storming over to your lawn as if I was a woman possessed, only for your sister to show up and hear it. Impeccable timing, huh?" My eyes swim to the side, and maybe there is a smidgen of humor in this whole situation.

Keats's mouth is stretching into a smirk. "An apology. I can't believe you actually just showed your un-demon-like qualities," he teases me, and that causes a wave of relief to wash over me, and my face relaxes. "And I kind of… well, also didn't seem to help."

I blink and bite the corner of my mouth. "Can we also forget about what I said? "

His chuckle causes me to sense a little cockiness boiling up within him. "Not a fucking chance. My neighbor stormed over because I didn't fuck her brains out, which means that she very much enjoys my cock."

Instantly, I panic and search for any bystanders that may be around. "Say that louder, will ya?"

"I could." He grins.

I sigh, pushing away any sliver of his banter that I sometimes relish and decide to stick to being practical. "Just let's forget about it. Everything from the past few weeks. We can pretend that it never happened and focus on our mail mishaps."

I just laid out a horrible idea. Nothing about that is appealing, which means I need to check my sanity. Except, no attachments, right? That's what he said once, and I think it's what I want too, so I guess my words make sense.

"Grand idea then," he answers tightly. It takes me aback for a second. I kind of assumed he would be a bit more chipper on the fact that I'm following his policy. Instead, his eyes lower and his face drops for a second.

But I move us along as I brush my hair all to one side over the front of my shoulder. "Uh, how was the weekend with your sister?"

"Yeah, good as always. Did the whole park thing, baby swings, then hit up Foxy Rox for a coffee, and apparently babyccinos are a thing."

I laugh, but it's mostly to cover up the fact that I feel flustered from the imagery in my head. "Yeah, I've heard something about those. Foxy Rox has a whole menu for kids' and puppies' drinking and snacking needs. I mean, not that a human child is the same as a puppy or a puppy is the same as a human. It's more like treats made out of oats and low sugar. For the dog, of course. Treats are for dogs and snacks are for kids. And pupcups are just pure whipped cream, I think, which pretty much defeats the whole low-sugar thing." I'm rambling a mile a minute.

Watching me this way doesn't seem to deter his smile. "Thank you for the explanation of biology and menu items."

My face turns crimson because I'm aware that I'm twisting my words, all because Keats causes knots inside of me, but I hate to admit that. "Uhm, I just wanted to apologize since you are here, and now I have, which means I can conquer a snack plate of veggies and dip with a few cookies on the side."

I don't even let him answer me because I scurry away, leaving him to watch me and the sway that I consciously do. Is he as lost in his thoughts as I am in my own? I'm trying to digest the shift in the air because I'm not sure what just happened. We're in neutral territory, right? Our hostile moments are over, no? He's pulling me in, and that simply can't be possible.

The thing about late-afternoon BBQ graduation parties is that the teenagers tend to leave after dinner to check out the next party on their schedule of friends heading to their next life chapter. It also means that the adults stay behind and continue to drink. Moving on from beer and wine, the parents, or rather, the mother of the graduate, is now mixing margaritas and letting a little loose.

A few of us keep going on this train. Kelly and Greg are cool. I'm confident Greg will break out his guitar at some point and jam to a classic alternative song.

With the hanging lights on and a buzz flowing through me, I'm going to agree that Kelly is excellent at whipping up an alcoholic beverage.

"I should head out. I know Kelly and Greg had their son young, but it kind of unnerves me to see two parents around our age with a teenager. Suddenly, I feel old," Oliver remarks as he downs his last sip of, well, I'm not sure what.

We're sitting in a row on the bench, with Keats on his other side.

I glance down to my cup and see that I'm running dry, too. "It's kind of fun. Let them be in their element. I don't often see them get a chance to let loose."

"Because they're domesticated," Keats notes with distaste.

"Ugh, now I remember why I don't like you. What a judgmental ass."

Keats pops his head out to peer around Oliver. "Really? You want to go down this route? We were doing so well."

Oliver groans, aggravated. "You two are like children who need a timeout."

"Sorry if Mr. Uptight needs to be called out. I bet he even tattles on Ryan when he throws parties when his parents are out of town." Keats doesn't answer but adjusts his neck as he stiffens. "Are you kidding me? You do, don't you? You need to loosen up."

Oliver's eyes turn to saucers, and he stands at the same time. "That's my cue to head on home."

Keats and I join him on the departure. "Don't even tell me to relax or I swear to God there will be consequences." The grit in his tone makes it clear the true meaning of his dirty words.

"That's it. I'm saying goodbye and leaving you two to work out your aggression issues, because I sure as hell don't want to be a witness. "

Keats and I follow Oliver but not without throwing one another glares. We all bid farewell to the hosts after repeating our congratulations and make our way to the street. Oliver waves us off before he walks down the street to his house. He's in no mood for further conversation.

"You are so intolerable. What was that? Consequences. Ooh." I wiggle my fingers in the air. "Let's just let anyone in earshot hear you confirm that you have control issues when your dick wants to play."

Now I'm 100% confident that frozen margarita was a little strong.

"What a vulgar little demon you are." He crosses his arms.

I grumble in exhaustion. "We are so fucking immature around one another," I point out.

"Oh, I agree. Our game of cat and mouse is anything but mature. But it makes me feel rejuvenated and less uptight, as you call it."

My brows raise in astonishment at his admission. I roll my shoulder back and lose my words because we seem unusually aligned. "Well…good. I guess we are on the same page there."

The air grows silent as we both realize that fact.

Under the streetlight we seem to be having another one our traditional conversations. Only when my head tilts to the side do I realize that neither one of us have moved as we stand by our mailboxes. The center of our universe.

It doesn't take long for Keats to recognize our setting, and for an inexplicable reason, our flared tempers seem to flatten and disappear. Instead, we stand in silence. He crosses his arms over his chest, and I nibble my bottom lip. Neither one of us is moving our feet. We're near unwavering.

What were we even talking about? It isn't helped by the fact that we are both staring at two mailboxes to ensure our eyes don't meet.

"Want to open a bottle of bad bourbon?" I ask in a monotone because the past few minutes of bickering are now history.

"Yes," he replies bluntly. "Should we fuck this out?"

"Yes."

"Do I get to yank your hair and spank you if needed?" He's very serious.

"Obviously, yes." I'm serious too as we don't stare at one another.

"Any special requests?"

I turn my head to him. "Why yes. Stop cross-examining me, and let's get inside."

He's satisfied with my words.

We don't say anything as we totter to my house and up the steps. The man even leans against the door as I unlock it, clearly confident enough to be comfortable.

When inside, I don't even bother to look at him as I nearly dart to the kitchen, open my cupboard, and pull out a bottle of bourbon. It's only when I look around my kitchen island that I finally have the vision of Keats, again in my home.

He's relaxed on the couch, with his feet on the coffee table as he leans back with his arms behind his head. If I wasn't on a mission to get tipsier, I would laugh. The man is all suits during the day, but he unwinds when it involves a woman with a potential for no talk.

Reaching the couch, I knock his legs off with my knee and plant my feet down in front of Keats, with my eyes alluring as I unscrew the cap of the bottle.

"No glasses?" His eyes stake me with a hint of playfulness as the corner of his mouth tugs .

"Nope," I respond sharply and then take a swig of bourbon.

Offering it to him, he grimaces and eagerly takes the bottle, ensuring his eyes pin mine. One swallow and I give up on trying to hold up the pretense of having a drink.

Slowly, I crawl on top of him and only stop when my thighs are firmly squared to his waist as I straddle him and lift my body slightly. A sly smirk lifts my lips, and with purpose, I snatch the bottle back and drink a sip, well aware that my mouth around the bottle is making him crazy.

"We don't need glasses," I clarify in a raspy voice. "And no, don't add that to the list of why you need to show me consequences," I mock .

That match inside of me strikes with an overriding need to take control of our dynamic. I'm taking the wheel tonight. As I bring the bottle to his lips, he drinks what I offer with our sight remaining chained to one another.

"Open again," I request, and when he listens, I lift the bottle higher to pour from above into his mouth, quickly slamming my lips down onto his to taste the alcohol, sucking the liquid from his mouth to drink. Because Keats is on the same wavelength as me, he doesn't hesitate, and his fingers fist the hair on the back of my head to yank me back slightly.

With his free hand, he grabs the bottle and pulls my head back enough for him to pour a few drops onto the slope of my neck, instantly trickling down my skin. Keats's tongue darts out to lick my body, and it takes all my power to keep my pussy clenched, as he just sent a rocket to my clit.

"Of course you like to get wet around me." His face turns menacing right before he paints my lips with the rim of the bottle, leaving a trail of alcohol.

He crashes his mouth down on mine, and I'm thankful that the thoughts of grabbing glasses never once filled my mind.

My hips roll in a wave on top of his shaft that is straining to break free from under his jeans.

Clasping the bottom of my dress, I swiftly peel it up until I'm left in my bra and panties. I work fast, tugging and pulling his shirt until it's off.

We still for a second, and I realize that Keats is surveying me, enamored, and stars burst inside me from the way he sears me with his eyes.

"You wear lace and liquor well." His hands drop to splay against the bottom of my spine as he tips me back gently, his lips sweeping up where the drops of liquid stop, and it leads him straight to the edge of my bra cups.

His fervent need and his five o'clock shadow rubbing against my skin bring out a small breathy yelp from me as my entire body tingles. Keats licks until he switches to his teeth, grazing my cleavage and placing delicate kisses.

I'm desperate for more. I straighten my body and sit up for more stability. His eyes gleam with curiosity as I take control of the situation. Slithering down his naked chest, I blindly search for the bottle that at some point was placed on the floor. Once found, I bring it just high enough above him and drizzle a few drops over his chest.

I lower my mouth to his pecs and murmur against his skin. "We don't like one another," I clarify then kiss his chest.

He shakes his head in disagreement but continues to let me kiss down the core of his body. "But we seem to agree on one thing, Esme."

I throw him a sensual look as I walk back on my knees to unbuckle his belt. "Oh yeah, and what is that?" I ask.

Keats has that melting look again. "That my cock feels good inside you. "

I can't help but bubble a laugh under my breath. "Fine. We have an agreement, hooray us."

His hands snap to grip my upper arms so tight that I'm not sure if it hurts or not. "On top of me, now ."

"And if I don't?" I challenge, my head cocking to the side.

He's already hauling my body back up until I have no choice but to sink down on top of his lap.

"So help me, I'll spank you until your ass is red tomorrow."

Fire. My body is on fire.

God, this man speaks to my dirty soul.

"By all means, do," I counter.

I'm not sure who makes the move, him or me, but our mouths create tremors and soon our bodies are twisting around one another. Keats, the man who always has his own way, throws me onto my sofa with my back against the cushions.

I'm going to scream if he doesn't slam into me in the next few seconds. I'm craving him.

It scares me that we seem to be able to read one another's minds, because he fulfills my wish, and I shamelessly let a loud moan leave my lips.

Between the alcohol and his talented body, my head spinning and his touch leaving me extra sensitive, I dig my nails into his back to hang on because I'm on a ride that feels like flying. The temperature of my body feels like a fever, but it makes this all the better.

This experience only heightens when even in my tipsy state, I acknowledge that this has nothing to do with my drink choices tonight. This feeling is all Keats. I'll assess that later, because right now I'm surrendering to him, giving him my body because he identifies every little spot I have to ensure I see fireworks.

And not wanting him to stop is beginning to feel like more than just tonight.

My sofa might be ruined, but I don't care. Not after that orgasm I just had. We are squished together, both lying on the couch, completely wrecked and spent.

"I need a cigarette," I comment as I stare at the ceiling, noticing my bra-covered chest lifting and dropping from my breathing.

"You used to smoke?" Keats sounds surprised.

I smile to myself. "No. But it sounds good after the way you fuck." It's an out-of-body experience, to be honest.

He chuckles, and my treacherous body decides that my head should rest against his chest. It must be an invitation for his arm to curl around me because that's what he does. The air-conditioning in the room chases the warmth away from my body as a chill hits me, and Keats reaches to grab the throw blanket hanging on the back of the sofa to drape across our bodies.

"Don't you dare bring that blanket over us," I warn.

"Now I'll do it just to piss you off," he jokes.

The blanket feels smooth against my body, even though he only covers us to the waist. I guess this is okay. It's not full-on nuzzling together. I can handle this. No dangerous territories entered.

Still, I feel the need to point out, "We don't do cuddling, we bite." My serious tone only receives a deep chuff as a response.

"Give me your finger, Esme," he orders. Holding one up, he's quick to capture it between his teeth with a light bite before he drags his lips off, sucking gently. "There."

My body is trying to weigh down on this couch because his action just turned me on again.

"I guess that will do."

Keats drums his fingertips on the curve of my shoulder, and we seem to be stewing in the moments after sex. "What's that over there?" His bumps his nose up.

I search for what he could be looking at, and I burst out with a laugh. "You mean the bumper sticker?" It's propped up by a basket of books sitting near my TV; I saw it the other day at the gas station.

"It says ‘I stop for anything with legs,'" he reads.

I use the nail on my index finger to draw a circle on his chest and cluck my tongue. "I have that in case you piss me off too much, and I'll just put it on your car when you're sleeping."

He doesn't seem to be amused as I can feel his body tense slightly, but then it eases just as fast.

Quiet happens again, and we just lie here, near comatose.

I refuse to concede that our bodies mold when in this position next to one another or how comfortable I feel in his arms.

"I'm curious if Kelly will be hungover tomorrow," I wonder.

Keats squeezes my arm. "I'm curious if we will be hungover tomorrow."

I swat his chest. "Nah, you fucked me sober."

He laughs at me, happily content with my humor.

"Anyhow, she deserves it," I add.

Keats mumbles a noise in response before he blows out a long breath. "Why am I lying here and not leaving?" he thinks aloud, his fingers skimming down my arm, and he doesn't even seem to recognize the affectionate move.

"Recovery time," I supply.

"Before we would have escaped as fast as can be. I guess something always eventually happens to change perception, and it's safe enough not to kill one another for our indiscretions."

As much as he is trying to joke, I can't help sense that an uncharted territory is looming in the distance. I think I might hope so. Lately, every moment around this guy feels like another pebble gone on the long path to a destination that I'm not quite sure of.

"No need to process it now," I suggest. It's the safest option.

He pats my arm to inform me that the moment is over. We begin to squirm until we are both off the couch and redressing with whatever fell to the floor. It's funny, this is as naked as we've been, and I'm still wearing a bra.

"The fact is we crossed into enemies-with-benefits territory," he highlights.

"Don't make me think right now," I beg drowsily.

"Everyone is searching for someone, even if they don't realize it," he mentions.

My face puzzles. "I'm not that someone."

Keats stretches his shirt over his head. "I just meant you're the kind of woman who is waiting for a husband."

I scoff at the audacity. "Where is this coming from?"

He shrugs. "I'm just saying that if you think you want to find Mr. Right, then let me know and I will be sure to go back to annoying you ten out of ten on the scale, in place of our current sixish."

Fluttering my eyes, an unexplainable anger begins to brew. "What about you? Surely, someone will cross your path, dying to be married to a lawyer who ignores her half the time due to work."

"I don't want that."

Shaking my head, I need to point out his own logic. "You said it yourself, ‘everyone is searching'… and last I checked, you fall into the everyone category."

The corner of his mouth hitches up. "This discussion is heading too deep."

What in the world? How do I go from vaguely noticing that this guy is igniting new feelings in me to unbelievable exasperation? "Then don't say something like that."

Keats shakes his head. "Relax. I'm just letting you know the options. Do I need to bury my cock into you again so you can calm down?"

Tempting.

"Well, this has been fun." I drag my words out flatly. This is the safer bet.

He stifles a laugh. "Hint taken."

But as he leaves, I'm trying to bury the feeling that there is a morsel of disappointment that he mentioned searching. I'm beginning to fear that I should explore if there is any possibility he may be that someone.