Read Online Marie Sexton - Coda 04 - Strawberries for Dessert by Marie Sexton - Free Book Online
Authors: Marie Sexton
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said.
“Well for goodness’ sake, don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.”
“Oh really?” I asked, laughing.
“No, not really.” He pushed me playfully away. “But at least allow me the luxury of my own self-delusions, won’t you?” “I’ll try,” I told him. I opened the bottle and smelled the contents. It smelled like Kool-Aid. “Is this what we’re drinking with dinner?” 53
“Absolutely not. I actually bought you a nice bottle of Chianti.” He pointed his spatula at me. “Don’t even mention fava beans, or I guarantee you’ll be sleeping on the porch.”
“I don’t mind,” I told him, “as long you’re sleeping there with me.”
He turned his back to me, but not before I saw that he was pleased.
54
Date: Sept 16
From: Cole
To: Jared
I have to say, Sweets, the constant nagging for information is getting awfully tiresome. I haven’t been telling you anything because there really is nothing to tell. Yes, you’re correct in saying that we seem to be spending a great deal of time together. But your assumption that our relationship is becoming serious could not be further from the truth. This is a casual arrangement—nothing more—much like the one you and I enjoyed for so many years. I’m getting used to Jonathan being so ridiculously uptight, and I dare say he’s getting used to me being… the way I am. In another month or two, I’ll be heading back to Paris for the holidays. I’ll probably come home to find him shacked up with some big angry cop. Now why does that story sound familiar?
Take care, Sweets, and say hello to your big angry cop for me. Let me know if steam actually emerges from his ears when you do.
H
E SPENT Sunday and Monday night with me at my house. Tuesday morning, he lay in bed, talking nonstop as he watched me dress. He talked about needing a haircut and what we should have for dinner and made what I thought was an off-hand comment about not having been to Mazatlan since college. By the time I got home from work that afternoon, he was already on the beach. He called to tell me he would be gone at least a week. I could only marvel at how he seemed to flutter wherever the wind might carry him. I didn’t hear from him the rest of the time he was gone, but two Fridays later, I came home to find him barefoot in my kitchen.
The next morning, I got up and went for my usual morning run and then showered. He was still sleeping when I came out of the 55
bathroom. The sheets covered him to his waist. He was facing away from me. I could see only cinnamon-colored hair, a bare back, and narrow shoulders. His caramel skin looked even darker than usual against the clean white sheets.
I was surprised at how my desire for him only seemed to grow. With other partners, the excitement often waned. But not with him. Not yet, at any rate. I dropped my towel and climbed naked onto the bed behind him. I pushed up against him. As always, his hair smelled like strawberries. I kissed the back of his neck and ran my hand down his soft stomach.
“Mmm…” he mumbled sleepily. “If it’s before six, I’ll never forgive you.”
“It’s almost seven.”
He stretched, leaning back against me. “Mmm…” he said again, but this time it sounded less like sleepiness and more like arousal. “In that case….”
I moved the sheet out of the way so I could press my growing erection against him, and he moaned. He let me push him on to his stomach and spread his legs so that I could wedge myself between them. I loved the way he felt when he was flat underneath me like this. His body was thin and seemed delicate, and yet I knew from experience that he was not the least bit fragile or timid when it came to sex. I kissed the back of his neck, flicking my tongue over that butterfly mark that always seemed to call to me. “I love the way your hair smells,” I told him, and he laughed breathlessly.
I slid my hand underneath him, down to his erection. He
“Well for goodness’ sake, don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.”
“Oh really?” I asked, laughing.
“No, not really.” He pushed me playfully away. “But at least allow me the luxury of my own self-delusions, won’t you?” “I’ll try,” I told him. I opened the bottle and smelled the contents. It smelled like Kool-Aid. “Is this what we’re drinking with dinner?” 53
“Absolutely not. I actually bought you a nice bottle of Chianti.” He pointed his spatula at me. “Don’t even mention fava beans, or I guarantee you’ll be sleeping on the porch.”
“I don’t mind,” I told him, “as long you’re sleeping there with me.”
He turned his back to me, but not before I saw that he was pleased.
54
Date: Sept 16
From: Cole
To: Jared
I have to say, Sweets, the constant nagging for information is getting awfully tiresome. I haven’t been telling you anything because there really is nothing to tell. Yes, you’re correct in saying that we seem to be spending a great deal of time together. But your assumption that our relationship is becoming serious could not be further from the truth. This is a casual arrangement—nothing more—much like the one you and I enjoyed for so many years. I’m getting used to Jonathan being so ridiculously uptight, and I dare say he’s getting used to me being… the way I am. In another month or two, I’ll be heading back to Paris for the holidays. I’ll probably come home to find him shacked up with some big angry cop. Now why does that story sound familiar?
Take care, Sweets, and say hello to your big angry cop for me. Let me know if steam actually emerges from his ears when you do.
H
E SPENT Sunday and Monday night with me at my house. Tuesday morning, he lay in bed, talking nonstop as he watched me dress. He talked about needing a haircut and what we should have for dinner and made what I thought was an off-hand comment about not having been to Mazatlan since college. By the time I got home from work that afternoon, he was already on the beach. He called to tell me he would be gone at least a week. I could only marvel at how he seemed to flutter wherever the wind might carry him. I didn’t hear from him the rest of the time he was gone, but two Fridays later, I came home to find him barefoot in my kitchen.
The next morning, I got up and went for my usual morning run and then showered. He was still sleeping when I came out of the 55
bathroom. The sheets covered him to his waist. He was facing away from me. I could see only cinnamon-colored hair, a bare back, and narrow shoulders. His caramel skin looked even darker than usual against the clean white sheets.
I was surprised at how my desire for him only seemed to grow. With other partners, the excitement often waned. But not with him. Not yet, at any rate. I dropped my towel and climbed naked onto the bed behind him. I pushed up against him. As always, his hair smelled like strawberries. I kissed the back of his neck and ran my hand down his soft stomach.
“Mmm…” he mumbled sleepily. “If it’s before six, I’ll never forgive you.”
“It’s almost seven.”
He stretched, leaning back against me. “Mmm…” he said again, but this time it sounded less like sleepiness and more like arousal. “In that case….”
I moved the sheet out of the way so I could press my growing erection against him, and he moaned. He let me push him on to his stomach and spread his legs so that I could wedge myself between them. I loved the way he felt when he was flat underneath me like this. His body was thin and seemed delicate, and yet I knew from experience that he was not the least bit fragile or timid when it came to sex. I kissed the back of his neck, flicking my tongue over that butterfly mark that always seemed to call to me. “I love the way your hair smells,” I told him, and he laughed breathlessly.
I slid my hand underneath him, down to his erection. He
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