Reese

This man is going to kill me. Literally. My heart is going to stop or I'm not going to be able to catch my breath again and I'm going to die due to lack of oxygen to my brain.

JC's on top of me, his full weight on me, and it's delicious. I can feel his heart beating, and I can hear and feel his heavy exhalations and greedy inhalations against my neck. I'm running my fingers through his hair and down his back and his lips are against my neck. He's mumbling something that I can't understand, but it tickles my skin and I'm laughing.

He gets up on his forearms and looks at me. "So is this the part where you jump up and make french fries again?" He's smirking, still slightly out of breath, and incredibly sexy.

I'm still playing in his hair. It's thick and soft and I'm kind of loving the way it feels between my fingers. "Not french fries, no. But if you'd get off me..." I'm grinning, and I know he knows I'm joking, "I'd definitely like to eat now."

He plants a kiss on my lips and rolls off of me, onto his back. I sit up next to him, just looking at him for a moment. His body is...well, currently my most favorite thing. He's thin, but not skinny. Broad shoulders, but strong and muscular. His well-defined arms, hard abs, strong thighs tells me he clearly knows his way around a gym. He has a fantastic body. And I've been enjoying feeling it moving right up against mine. I wouldn't mind sitting here and staring at it for awhile longer, but I'm starving and if I don't get up now I have a feeling I won't be leaving the bed anytime soon. I stand up and stretch, noticing the appreciative way his eyes are wandering my body.

"See something you like?" I wink and grab my t-shirt from the floor next to the bed. I go to my closet to grab shorts. "You can shower if you want," I call through the door. "I'm pretty sure I have a new toothbrush under the sink. Towels are in the linen closet. If there's anything else you need, you can look through my cabinets."

"I can look through your cabinets, huh?" He's sitting up in the bed, hair mussed, looking absolutely delectable.

"I have no secrets." With another wink, I'm on my way to the kitchen.

I feel like breaking into song and dance. That's how good the sex is. It's the kind of good where I want to call my mother and thank her for giving birth to me. The kind of good where I want to update Facebook and Twitter just to tell everyone how good it was. Bridgette always wants explicit details and I'll have plenty for her.

With a smile on my face, I proceed to fix a simple breakfast and what seems like a short time later, JC's joining me in the kitchen.

"Bergamot," he says from behind me.

I'm standing in front of the fridge when suddenly his arms are around my waist and his lips are on the back of my neck. My eyes close and goosebumps rise on my skin. His fingertips skim the waistband of my shorts and I tremble at his touch. Something about the way he touches me makes me forget how to do automatic things. Like inhale. Form sentences. Exhale. I let out a shaky breath.

"Wh-what about it?" His fingers slide down slowly to my hip bone and I feel his tongue and teeth on my neck and I may be whimpering.

"Last night. You smelled familiar but I couldn't place it. It's your soap. Bergamot smells a little like oranges.”

I mumble something that's supposed to be a positive acknowledgement and, with huge effort, turn around. "Breakfast is ready."

I turn and smile. He's in his jeans from last night, and nothing else. I'm completely OK with that.

He helps me assemble everything on the coffee table in front of my couch. My Sunday morning usually involves breakfast in front of the TV, and although I don't turn on the set, I let the overall routine stand.

Breakfast is coffee and OJ, strawberries, scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, and croissants with lemon-blueberry jam. While we eat and drink, we talk about music, travel, food, and I enjoy how easy breezy being with him is. 

For the second time today, I find myself wishing this could maybe be more than just a one night stand. Wondering if maybe running into him last night wasn’t just a coincidence. 

"So what do you do for a living?" 

JC's question catches me off guard. It's like a splash of ice cold water straight to the face, jarring me out of my previous train of thought. 

He puts his coffee mug down and sits back, looking at me with an expectant smile on his face.

"You mean what kind of job do I have.” As soon as the words come out, I regret speaking them. He asked a totally normal, expected question. It's what you ask when you’re getting to know someone. And I can't possibly explain why I'm being so weird about it.

His forehead wrinkles. “Isn't it the same thing?” he asks.

"Maybe for some people,” I mumble. I set my plate on the table next to his mug. “I help rich people buy and sell expensive homes.”

My mother would appreciate the irony of this situation. I'm using the same language she used to describe my job a couple of weeks ago. Language that made me indescribably angry. 

JC still looks confused so it surprises me when he pulls me closer to him. I hope that means we can shelve this particular topic. There are about three other things I'd much rather be doing with him right now. When I rest my hand on his thigh he plays with my fingers, and I hope he's picking up on the signals I'm trying to send him.

"So tell me, what's the difference between what you do for a living and what you do for a job?” he asks.

I groan, realizing I'm not going to seduce my way out of this conversation. 

He doesn't say anything, but his blue eyes are quizzical and intent on my brown ones. 

We stare at each other for a couple of seconds and then he leans in and kisses me. I take just enough time to run my tongue along his bottom lip and then I pull away. I'm a little out of breath because everything about him so close to me makes it hard to breathe. But I want to answer his question so we can move on and never return to it again.

"I go to work to pay my bills.” Once again my mother's words return to me and I have to laugh a little. “I'm good at it, and I make good money doing it, but it's still just a job. If I weren't doing it, someone else would be. 

"I think that's the difference between working a job and making a living. I'm not saving lives, or creating something new. Nothing I'm doing is adding value to the world or...anyone, really.”

I stop speaking and the near-silence--our breath, my heartbeat, the faint hum of some appliance in my kitchen--roars in my ears. I was worried about things being awkward this morning and now I'm the one causing it. I blink until the stinging sensation in my eyes passes, and then I force a smile.

"What about you, JC? Do you make a living or do you work a job?”

My fingers are no longer moving on his thigh and I realize he's placed his hand over mine, gently holding it in place. His cheeks color a bit and he gazes at me with an expression holding some emotion I can't read. Probably, I think, pity.

It takes him a moment to answer and when he does, he stumbles over his words a little. “I, uh...well, I guess I make a living," he says softly. "I've been fortunate to do what I love to do and get paid for it, so..." He shrugs. 

He says that almost like he's apologizing, and I hate that I made him feel that way. I have to salvage this so I do the only thing I can think to do. I lean forward to kiss his chin. 

"So what is it you do?” I ask, my lips against his skin. 

He tilts his head back while simultaneously pulling me onto his lap. "Um, I'm a musician. I write, produce, and even sing a little sometimes." 

I'm impressed now, and I want to hear more, but he smells divine and it's very distracting. 

"Are your songs like, on the radio? Or in movies or..." My lips trace his neck and jaw and I close my eyes and inhale him. The smell of my soap lingers faintly on his skin, but underneath it is something else. Something warm and rich and sexy as fuck. 

I think it's just him. 

"Sometimes," he says, before tugging at me just enough so I lift my head. 

His fingers slide down my cheeks, past my shoulders, and dance on my arms. I almost don't remember what we're talking about anymore because he's kind of tickling me, which is kind of making me horny. His fingers are magical and he should be paid outrageous amounts of money for how amazing they are.

JC brings his mouth to mine and pushes me onto my back. Our hands wander and explore each other, and in what seems like seconds our clothes are discarded on the floor. I briefly think about asking him more questions about his songs, but then we're moving together and I don't. Although we're both making plenty of noise and saying lots of things, some time goes by before we're really able to have a conversation.

JC

My heart is pounding in my ears so loud it's about the only thing I can hear. And my eyes are closed but I'm pretty sure I couldn't see even if I opened them.

This woman is going to kill me in the best possible way.

Right now Reese has her hands in my hair and on my back and my face is buried in her neck and I could stay here. For a very, very long time. If it weren't for the fact that I know I'll get heavy soon enough, I'd pass out just like this. Her underneath me, so she can't go anywhere.

It's dangerous how bad I don't want to leave.

She excites me and I haven't been excited about a woman in...well, a really, really long time. That probably sounds cheap and stupid and why am I with my girlfriend, then? But I don't want to think about that right now.

After asking her if she plans on making more french fries, and being reward by her amazingly infectious laughter, she tells me she wants to eat so I roll off of her.

She gets up to get dressed and I'm laying back watching her. Her body is exquisite and I wouldn't mind if she walked around naked for the rest of the day. She catches me staring and smirks.

"See something you like?" She winks at me.

And before I can tell her that yes, I absolutely see something I like, she's already in her closet telling me I can take a shower, if I want. She even tells me I can look through her cabinets. I probably would've done it anyway, but it's nice that she gives me permission.

After she leaves the room in the--fuck me--tiniest pair of shorts, I head to her bathroom. I start the shower and then grab a towel and toss it over the shower door. I look under the sink and, just like she said, there are a few unopened toothbrushes. There are also several tubes of toothpaste, a couple of bottles of mouthwash, and assorted other toiletry items. I grab a toothbrush and then look in her medicine cabinet.

I'm pleased to see her birth control pills. She was quick to reach for condoms last night and this morning so I never bothered to ask her, but it's nice to know she's taking care of things on both ends. I stare at the name on the prescription label. Reese Adams. Now I know her last name. The rest of what's in the cabinet is pretty standard, and I close the door.

I step into the almost hot spray of the shower and my eyes settle on a large, blue labeled bottle of liquid soap. I open it up and inhale. The familiar scent that I smelled on her last night and this morning, but couldn't place. The thought of her scent on me for the rest of the day makes me smile. 

I finish up in the bathroom as quickly as possible and pull my pants on and head into the kitchen. She's standing at the refrigerator, her ass looking amazing in those tiny little shorts, and I slide up behind her and wrap my arms around her.

"Bergamot," I say, my lips against her neck. I'm playing with the waistband of her shorts and I feel her body shiver against me.

"Wh-what about it?"

I nip at her skin and she whimpers a little, which is like a siren call straight to my dick. "Last night. You smelled familiar but I couldn't place it. It's your soap. Bergamot smells a little like oranges.”

She says something I don't really understand and then turns around to tell me breakfast is ready.

We eat on the couch in the living room and I briefly wonder if this girl every uses a table. Breakfast is simple and good, and more than that, being with her good and easy. She tells me what type of music she listens to, and when she names a bunch of rappers from the nineties and funk bands from the seventies, it absolutely makes sense to me that she has no idea who I am. She says the only radio she listens to is NPR, and I believe her.

Our conversation is random, rambling, and in a weird way, it feels intimate. Like I'm talking to someone I've known for years instead of someone I've known for approximately 12 hours. I think I may be enjoying it all too much. There's a lull in the conversation and I start to think about how I'm going to leave here today and never see her again. I don't want to think about how unhappy that makes me feel so I start talking, saying the first thing that comes to mind.

"So what do you do for a living?" I ask. 

All things considered, it's probably better that I know very little about Reese. But I can't help my curiosity. I drain the last bit of my coffee and set the mug down.

Her jaw clenches and her eyes drop to her hands, which she's squeezing together in her lap. "You mean what kind of job do I have." Her voice is oddly flat, and it's obvious I asked the wrong thing.

I should probably let it go, but now I'm even more curious. "Isn't it the same thing?" 

She says something under her breath, and scowls as she puts her plate down. “I help rich people buy and sell expensive homes.”

Up until this point Reese's manner has been relaxed, laid-back. Now I can almost feel the tension rising off of her and I wonder just how badly I screwed up. I reach out and slide my arm around her waist and pull her closer, which she doesn't resist at all. And when her hand lands high on my thigh, I'm pretty sure I can salvage things.

She shifts to face me, propping one elbow on the cushion behind her and tucking her legs underneath her, but I can't tell what she's thinking. She's not frowning anymore, and her hand is still on my thigh, and maybe everything is going to be all right after all.  

I play with her fingers, watching her even as she watches me. "So tell me, what's the difference between what you do for a living and what you do for a job?” 

She rolls her eyes and groans.

I'm really intrigued by her mood shift over such a trivial question, but I don't say anything and for several seconds we just stare at one another. 

Her quiet intensity is hypnotic, and although I really do want to know more about her job, her hand is hot on my thigh and I wish she'd move it a few inches north. I move my head really close to hers and she smirks at me, and then my lips are on hers. Her mouth opens and I wonder what time it is and if we have time for round two and then she pulls away. 

A shadow crosses her face and her eyes drop again. 

"I go to work to pay my bills.” Her voice is muted, and when she laughs it's with no humor. "I'm good at it, and I make good money doing it, but it's still just a job. If I weren't doing it, someone else would be. I think that's the difference between working a job and making a living. I'm not saving lives, or creating something new. Nothing I'm doing is adding value to the world or...anyone, really."

For a moment it's as if all of her considerable vibrancy just sparks out, and she sounds inexplicably sad. If I could think of something to say that I thought might make her feel better, I would. But I've got nothing. And she seems like she's miles away anyway. A minute or two passes in silence, while I hold her hand where it still rests on my thigh. 

She finally smiles up at me, but her eyes are shiny. Like she might cry. "What about you, JC? Do you make a living or do you work a job?"

I stare at her stupidly because I don't know what to say. If her condo is any indication, Reese is doing pretty well for herself. I don't get why she wouldn't be extremely proud of that, why admitting that she's well-compensated for a job she does well has her on the verge of tears. But she is, and I don't know how to answer her without sounding like an asshole. 

On top of that is the fact that she still doesn't know who I am. Maybe it's not right, but I like that. My hand is still over hers and I try to answer her question without lying, but without giving too many details. 

"I guess I make a living. I've been fortunate to do what I love to do and get paid for it, so..." 

I feel silly and sorry and I don't fully understand why. But then her expression changes, genuinely brightens again, and she kisses me right under my bottom lip. 

"So what is it you do?" she asks. 

Her mouth is still very close to mine, and again it crosses my mind that I really wish I could get to know her more. I pull her into my lap and give her my very bare-bones job description. 

Her lips trail a path down my neck and back up to my jaw and I can't concentrate on the questions she's asking. My reply is vague when she asks if my songs are on the radio and then my hands are in her hair, lifting her face to mine and bringing my mouth to hers. 

She tastes so sweet, like the strawberries we ate. My hands move across her body reflexively. And then I'm helping her out of her clothes and she's helping me out of mine and for some time, we're not really talking anymore.