The Belle and the Beard by Kate Canterbary (carter reed TXT) 📗

A shudder moved through me as I continued jerking and pulsing on her tongue. It seemed endless, as if orgasms achieved in moments like these were that much longer.

When it was over, Jasper took my shaft in hand, still thick and heavy and throbbing for more, and dusted light kisses over my skin before tucking me back into my pants. I cupped her chin, tipped her face up, and stroked my thumb over her lips. I loved her.

For a moment, we stayed right there, Jasper in a pool of barely-yellow sunlight and me looming over her. I wanted to tell her—to tell her everything—but there were no words for this moment. And they didn't belong here, not really. This wasn't the place for those confessions. Not the right time.

"Here's what's going to happen now," I said, my thumb still tracing her lips. They were pink and swollen, and I bet they tasted like me. "I'm going to help you to your feet and I'm going to give you a minute to fix your face before we go back out there. Then, we're saying our goodbyes. Don't you dare think about chatting anyone up. If you do, you're the one who will suffer. It's an hour between here and home and I like watching you squirm so I won't be the one to make you feel better until you're stripped bare and flat on our bed. Understand, Peach?"

A rebellious breath burst from her lips and she arched her brows up. "Maybe I'll be the one to make myself feel better."

I held out my hand. There was a second where it seemed like she wasn't interested in taking it but she did. She also ran her tits along my chest as she stood so we were even. "You can try but you won't get what you need."

"Mmhmm." She raked a glance over me, saying, "Seems like we should be on our way then."

25

Jasper

This bathroom gave new meaning to vintage. It was the sort of throwback that was almost old enough to be in fashion again but in an antique, historical way. Unlike the rest of Midge's house, this room wasn't falling apart or the site of any unfortunate bat nesting. It was just really old.

Sitting on the lip of the tub, I ran a hand down the mint green tiles that covered the walls and the border of shiny black tiles capped off the art deco look. The problem was, all of this minty splendor seemed to be in decent condition. It wasn't moldy or cracked or even faded. It was just…old. That, and I knew nothing about fixing up bathrooms, which left me with nothing to do in here.

If I didn't have a week or two of work in the bathroom, I had to put my energy into Midge's room instead. There was nothing else for me to do. It was the bathroom or the only other room I'd avoided. I didn't make the rules.

"All right. I guess I'm ripping out some tile," I said to the empty space.

Before I could lift my trusty crowbar to the mint chip, my phone vibrated across the floor, a number I didn't recognize flashing on the screen.

I knew better than to answer calls from unknown numbers but— "Hello?"

"Hey! Is this Jasper-Anne Cleary?"

Immediately, I went on high alert. I should not have answered. It was a bad idea to take calls from anyone. I didn't need to fumble my way through a "no comment" with another reporter.

"Yes," I said, though it came out like a question.

"Okay, great, cool. This is Dino Thatcher-Wheelwright with the NCVC."

He paused and I had to believe that pause was meant for me to respond with something like "Oh, the NCVC, of course, how's Marsha doing these days? She still with you guys or what?" but I had no idea. It could be the North Carolina Veterans' Coalition or the Nevada Commission on Visitor Commerce or—

"Northern California Voters Count," he said, chuckling just enough to forgive me for not knowing. "I bet you see your share of acronyms, huh?"

"Show me someone in this business who hasn't." My words sounded rusty, like I hadn't spoken out loud in days.

"The reason for my call, Jasper-Anne"—I didn't invite him to call me Jasper because I needed to know what he wanted before I could do anything else—"is we're hoping you want to come on out to California and help us get a few new members of Congress elected."

"I want—what? What did you say?"

"I hear ya, this is a big change of pace. NorCal is a totally different world, and that's just in regard to the rest of California, never mind the East Coast politics game."

I found myself saying, "Mmhmm."

"And we know you're a big-time player in that game while we're small potatoes but we also know you've had your fill of business as usual in Washington."

Again— "Mmhmm."

"I'll be straight with you," he continued. "We don't have the humanpower to get it done by ourselves. We're damn good at turning out voters and we've had some early success fielding a bench of candidates to run in state and local races, but we don't have the smarts to get them elected. That's where you come in."

By now, I was in the mint green tub, my knees to my chest and my head on the wall and my hand cramping because my grip on the phone could be categorized as one of those crazy adrenaline feats of strength. "Mmhmm."

"The team is pumped about getting to know you. We would love it if we could get a day or two with you, on site, to see if this is the path you want to tumble down next."

It took me a moment to realize it was my turn to speak. "On site," I repeated. "You're looking for me to visit you in California?"

"I know it's short notice but we could fly you out tomorrow. If you can't swing that, we can make it work later in the