A Toast to Starry Nights (8 page)

What I wore was both sentimental and
naughty. I first wore it on the date when Dmitri and I finally had sex. At the
time, it had been about four years since he and I had seen each other. It
conjured the memory of getting nailed on the hood of my Grand Cherokee out in a
remote spot on the family ranch... Black lingerie was his Kryptonite... and I
played to win. A black lace push-up bra, matching boycut panties, a garter belt
with back-seamed thigh-highs and pumps... the result of that combination is
forever engrained into my spank bank. The best sex I ever had. Hands down, no
contest. This hussywear forever makes me feel like a saucy pinup girl. I wanted
to recreate that magical memory with a twist. I just hoped he'd notice.

I lay on my side, head propped on one
elbow with the other arm draped over my hip, my legs to show them their best
angle. For a single moment my heart stopped beating as the door slowly eased
open. I readied what I hoped was a sultry look upon my face. Dmitri took up
most of the doorframe, and beyond him I could see that he extinguished all the
candles. When he served in the Marines, he was a firefighter. Sigh. I should
have realized he'd do that.

A glance to his face revealed a look of
intense lust. After a long moment of locking eyes, I arose from my position and
sauntered his way with a determined step. I grabbed him by the hand and dragged
him to the bathroom. We said nothing as I turned on the shower and undressed
him. I gestured with a pointed finger for him to enter the huge stall and stand
beneath the huge rain showerhead. He grabbed for my arm and I maneuvered out of
his reach with a wink. Then with a smile, I removed a towel from the rack and
sat on the counter. Three minutes tops he was out and I was ready with the
unfolded towel to dry.

Rubbing him dry turned into him removing
my lingerie except for the garter belt, stockings and heels. My arms were
entwined around his neck as we stared into each others eyes, while I chewed my
bottom lip amidst a smile. His hand reached up to caress my cheek. Dmitri
kissed me with a hunger that stoked excitement in my very core. His lips
traveled from my jawline to behind my ear. I wove my fingers through his
chestnut hair and guided his lips back to mine.

Dmitri's thumbs rubbed my nipples into
hard points that ached for his tongue. I adored the way he seemed to know what
I craved. He was hard for me and I was equally wet for him. I broke away from
his embrace and walked back to the bedroom. When I crossed the threshold, I
looked over my shoulder at him and winked. He followed. I'm sure he could see
in my eyes that I was feeling very frisky.

The bed beckoned in its alluring way and
I knelt upon the edge like a cat being stroked. Red hair fell in disarray over
my forearms as my head rested upon them. I closed my eyes and waited. His
calloused hands slid over my bottom to grab at my hips. He held me captive and
pressed forward. I could feel him probing my slit but not thrusting home where
I wanted him most. Instead he rubbed the tip of his cock against my throbbing
clit. I backed into him, urging him to take me. Dmitri must have anticipated
such a move and swerved away. My ass cooled from lack of his body heat. I
growled in frustration. A sound I hope threatened dire consequences if he
failed to enter me then and there. He chuckled and resumed his delicious
caressing.

“Just enjoy it, Kaylis. You get greedy
and forget the simpler things in life,” he said with a smirk in his voice.

My hips were moving in sync with his.
Oh, I was enjoying it make no mistake. But I knew what I wanted. Much to his
frustration, my hips began to weave a rhythm counter-productive to his stroke.
Dmitri's calloused hold on my hips firmed.

“I know what you want...” My sing-song
voice taunted him.

He bent and gently nipped the back of my
neck at the hairline. Tingles engulfed my body like a wildfire. His deep voice
replied with hot breath. tickling my ear, “I know what you want.”

He gave me what I wanted...

And then some.

* * *

Sweat covered and panting, we lay within
each others arms with fingers entwined. “I'm sorry I screeched at you like an
ill bred cave dweller.” I almost let 'harpy' slip through, but him laughing at
the moment would border the Land of Awkward. “Writing has always been my escape
when I felt I had no control on what was happening in my life. It was mine.
What I wrote, I controlled. To have my sanctuary violated by Jet when I
expressly forbade her from reading anything of mine felt like a violation. She
was right though. I underestimated her and her literature-based superpowers.”

“Apology accepted. I didn't know that's
how you felt. If I had known writing was your therapy, I wouldn't have
intruded. Thought it was more of a hobby for you. I'm sorry.”

Gently I kissed him. His arm held me
tight for a moment, pressing my length against his side as his hand slid down
from the side of my breast to derriere and back again. Each time the length and
pressure of his stroke increased. I caressed his hardness with my hand and
absorbed his moans into my mouth. When I knew that we both could stand no more
sweet torment, I slid across him and straddled his body, easing his length
inside. I clenched as he pulsed, our fingers still entwined. His hands were
alongside his head on the down pillow and although I was in the position of
dominance, it was I who was being dominated. His hands kept me bent over and
kissing him as he thrust up into my welcoming warmth. It was he absorbing my
moans into his mouth now. I felt deliciously feminine and alive, soaring with
falcons then up through the clouds in the sky above to float amid the stars.

* * *

“I like make-up sex. Maybe you should be
a bitch more often.” We lay side by side as our bodies tingled with a healthy
afterglow, I on my belly, Dmitri on his back.

“Shut up, Dmitri. Are you hungry yet?”
My head turned in his direction, but my eyes closed with the wonderful feeling
of fuzzy satisfaction.

“Yeah, I think I earned some bacon and
pancakes. Get crackin', woman.” He smacked my ass, then caressed the spot with
a lingering touch.

I sat up and enjoyed the brief head-rush
I got. “Hopeful wishing. You can hit IHOP by yourself, or you can enjoy the
divine repast I planned and prepared for my groveling repentance.”

“Groveling? Is that what you call it
these days? “

A pillow somehow got chucked at his
head.

“Come on, beefcake. I need you to wield
your tool for me.”

He sighed. “Two times not good enough
for you? See, this is that greedy thing I spoke about.”

“I meant put on your pants and get a
hammer. Meet me in the kitchen. I need your manly-man thing to kick in and help
me with this. Please?” A black silk kimono now covered my stocking-clad body.
He watched with a roguish gleam as I cinched it shut.

With a cheeky grin, I turned about and
went into the kitchen. A flick of a switch and the room lit up. Green-tinted
cement counter tops, frosted glass-fronted cabinets and a massive island that
housed a sink, stove top, and built-in microwave. The oven was on the wall, a
huge, glistening beast that seemed capable of belonging to the updated kitchen
of Hansel and Gretel's witch.

Hands clad in silicone oven mitts pulled
out the heavy jelly roll pan with a white and brown mottled mound from the
oven. I set it upon the stove. From the refrigerator's veggie bin, I removed
plastic bag containing the Greek salad I threw together earlier. Red onion,
romaine lettuce, tomato quarters, feta and chopped Kalamata olives awaited the
dressing of lemon juice and olive oil. I tossed everything into a wooden salad
bowl and mixed it to perfection. Thirty seconds later, I hit the start button
on the microwave. In five minutes, wild mushroom couscous would be ready.

Dmitri walked past me clad in purple
shorts emblazoned with the Sacramento Kings logo on his way to the garage. “Any
particular kind of hammer?” He opened the garage door and left it open as he
called out, “Ball peen, framing, sledge, rock or a mallet?”

“Something big and impressive. But not
too big or ungainly... that would be overkill.”

“Gotcha.”

He came in carrying what looked like a
weapon. It fit the bill as something big and impressive. “What the hell is
that?”

“It's a thirty-two ounce steel
straight-claw hammer. Hickory handle.” He held it up and kissed the shiny
hammerhead. "I love this thing."

“Good to know. Now whack that, pretty
please.” I gestured to the mound awaiting its beating on the stove. I was
trying out one of Jet's suggestions: appeal to Dmitri's masculine need to wield
something heavy and use force to help and/or impress a female.

He plagiarized my earlier statement.
“What the hell is that?” Dmitri stood before the stove, hammer in hand as he
gazed upon my culinary masterpiece with a quizzical look.

“Dinner.”

He lifted the hammer and with a thud,
shattered the salt-crusted armor covering the chicken. Wisps of steam escaped
into the air. The scent of roasted bird, garlic, thyme and black pepper
perfumed the room. Dmitri peeled off the solid chunks of salt, revealing a
tender and succulent fowl reminiscent of simple French cuisine.

“Can you carve it up for us?” I asked as
I removed the white Corningware casserole dish of couscous from the microwave.

“I can do anything, but I might want a
knife. The hammer would just make a mess of things. Smells good. My woman did
well.”

“You had a hard day at work, then a hard
time at home... I'm sure a peanut butter and marmalade sandwich would smell
good to you.” Dmitri staunchly believed sandwiches should be made with meat.
Peanut butter is an abomination against God in his view, and thus banned from
the house.

He laughed. “I like your definition of a
hard time at home.” Dmitri's demeanor sobered. “But yeah, it sucked today, but
not until after I left the shop. Your BFF called me after work... something
about her sink disposal not working.” He grabbed me by the shoulders and looked
me in the eye. His face went white as the haunted look in his eyes recalled the
horror. “Dealing with her sink made me so fucking sick. so I had to clear the
clog to just to clean up the Taco Bell fueled mess. I swear, Kaylis, it's like
she shoved a family of fat weasels down the disposal and the weasels won. That
thing was fubar'd. You aren't perfect, Kaylis, not by a long shot. But you
puking on me wasn't nearly as gnarly as the beast that took over that sink.
Thank you for not being crazy like your friend. She's cool and all... but she
has
some issues
.”

If he only knew.

Chapter Eight-

It wasn't the way my mother's voice
trailed off or the ferocity of her wiggling pinky finger that had me wasting my
Tuesday afternoon at an office on the North side of Chico. No, it was the
thought of strangers parading around my wedding wearing Klingon full make up
and costumes that prodded me into making an appointment as soon as possible. My
wedding would not be an excuse for a Star Trek convention or an Esbat bathed in
moonlight. During the forty-five minute ride, I blared some tunes to get me in
the right mindset. Nothing like a little Bauhaus to cheer one up.

Neilsinhaur's office exceeded my
expectations, not that I had much going in the way of assumptions. Figured a
hole in the wall sort of place, being that Willow frequented the establishment.
Upon entry from the plate-glass door a small oak topped-counter with a matching
computer desk set at a right angle behind it resided. To the right of the door,
a ceiling-to-floor waterfall spilled into a built-in pond. Koi of white and
orange swam above a pebble-speckled bottom, amidst aquatic plants and grottoes.
Seemed posh, too posh for my mother's taste. I enjoyed the sound of tinkling
water making its way into the rock-edged pool. Black marble tile floor, ecru
walls with white crown molding and a shelved skylight with ivy trailing down
met my critical eye.

A small three-legged table topped with
tidy stacks of magazines sat between two benches lining the wall across from
the receptionist desk. A deep sigh was heaved before I stood at the
receptionist's counter, awaiting my fate. Maybe I should have brought condoms
for the mindfuck I was sure to receive. My hand hovered over the little bell
when a petite blonde woman made her way from an alcove to behind the counter
and addressed me, front and center.

“Welcome! How can I assist you today?”
The receptionist wore a pigeon-blood red Mandarin tunic over black leggings.
Her hair was styled in two buns high at the back of her head, secured by
chopsticks with dangling white flowers. The flowers swayed to touch her ears as
she spoke in a very animated way. Her hands fluttered like hummingbirds; they
paused in a gesture, then zoom to another hand posture for a brief moment
before changing once again.

“I have a two o'clock appointment with
Dr. Neilsinhaur.” It was an epic failure on my part trying to keep the dejected
tone out of my voice.

She sat at the computer, flew over the
keyboard and said, “Ah yes...Kaylis Woods?” I nodded, and she continued, “It's
your first visit. I've got some paperwork for you to fill out.” She handed me a
clipboard loaded with a half-dozen sheets of paper and an old ballpoint pen. I
made my way to a bench and filled out the required information as fast as
possible. The sooner this was over the sooner I could bail, and get a blended
Chai from the kiosk down the road. Whether it was due to thwarting Willow and
her Roddenberry worship or due to nervousness at being thoroughly out of my
element and in my mother's realm, I wasn't sure. This was her turf. God knows
what the hell I was in for with this particular adventure.