Tender Touches

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When she rose to refill his cup for a third time as well as his bowl, Tom waved her off. "No... no more. I'll explode the buttons off your Dad's shirt if I eat another bite."

Her laughter filled the room and Tom was taken back by the softness of it. He watched her disappear from the room. Once again his eyes were drawn to the silkiness of her walk. He didn't think she knew how seductive she was. The way she moved seemed natural, not rehearsed to tempt. "Down boy," he muttered. His hand traveled south and he adjusted himself through the fabric of his borrowed clothes. Just then Constance returned and his gaze locked on hers. Her eyes took in where his hand was and Tom blanched as he watched her lips rise in a knowing smirk. He swallowed the lump in his throat and put his hand back on the table, where it toyed with the empty spoon of his stew.

"I threw your laundry into the wash and it'll be ready for you come morning. Right now, let me take a look at your head," Constance said. She put a first aide kit on the table and moved behind Tom. Her fingers gingerly touched his scalp and he winced. She apologized for the pain, which he shrugged off. After dabbing some peroxide on the small cut she'd discovered, Constance squeezed his shoulders and told him he'd survive. "Let me see your eyes," she said and slipped down to rest on her knees beside him.


Tom turned and stared down at her. His hazel-green orbs locked with her brown ones. He found himself lost in them as she concentrated on him. After what Tom knew was seconds his eyes moved from hers down to the pink hued lips that were slightly parted. He wondered what they felt like, their taste, their texture. His gaze continued to travel down from her lips to her chin. It was round, just like her cheeks, which were lightly freckled. A few wrinkles could be seen around her eyes and her lips, but they did nothing to distract from her down-home beauty. He took a deep breath and again was assailed by the scent she wore. He wondered if she dabbed the perfume behind her ears, on her wrists or perhaps the back of her knees like some women did. Tom continued to study her, briefly coming back to look into her eyes. He dipped his gaze down to her chest, where he was able to see the white lace of her bra through the collar of her shirt that hung low and slightly open. A groan escaped him and he blushed when he heard Constance's cough.

"You look fine," she whispered, rising up from her position on the floor. "I think you can go rest and I'll come in and check on you off and on through the night."

Tom protested but his words fell on stubborn ears. He pushed himself from the table and made his way back to his room. Once there, he peeled off his clothes and climbed under the quilt, momentarily thinking he should at least ask for some pajama bottoms. That thought died quickly as exhaustion consumed him.

Constance sipped at a cup of coffee as the old clock on the fireplace mantle ticked. She thought of the man upstairs. Who was he? Did he have a family that would be worrying about him? A girlfriend? A wife? Lover? A dog? He was young, but not so young that he had to be single. She hadn't seen a ring, but then again she hadn't inquired as to his status either. She should have. She should have offered to call someone for him. Why hadn't she? Was she so lonely she was willing to house some stranger and throw safety and caution to the wind? No. . .she was good at reading people. She thought of her ex and shuddered... well, usually she was good at reading people. The clock struck the hour and Constance rose from her chair, laying her unread book to the side. She took the steps to Tom's room and then stepped in.

She stopped at the side of the bed, sat down on its edge and reached out to stroke the fine hair that had fallen over his brow. "Tom," she whispered, slowly stroking the strands with a gentle caress. A soft moan fell from the man's lips and she smiled. "Tom, wake up for a minute," she whispered again, shifting on the edge of the bed to keep herself from slipping off.

Tom rolled to his side, sweeping a long, strong arm out. It landed on Constance's leg and his fingers curled around her thigh. She gasped, swallowing the surprised squeal that threatened to erupt from her. "Tom," she said again this time a bit louder. "I just want you to wake up for a minute or two."

Tom heard the voice of an angel. He didn't want to wake up. He was wrapped in her wings. Her arms stroking his head, her body bending to his will. His lips were covering her nipples. Her nails were dragging down his back and his cock was straining to slide into her heavenly warmth.

"Tom," the angel said again.

"Mmm?" he muttered against her angelic chest.

"Wake up," she whispered.

It was then that Tom became aware that his hand was being gently caressed, but it seemed more real than it had been in his dream. He opened his eyes and looked at the fingers that were tracing the veins of his skin. "Connie?" he said, his voice full of sleepiness.

Constance grinned. "Hey there," she answered back. "Let me look at you," she said. Tom pulled his hand away and rolled to his back. His head pounded and Constance sensed it, for soon she was up and back at his side with a glass of water and two pills. Tom downed the pain killers without thought and fell back on the pillow. He heard her chuckle and wanted to thank her, but soon sleep reclaimed him.

Constance sat on the edge of the bed for several minutes just watching her patient sleep. She didn't want to leave his side. He'd fallen asleep too quickly for her comfort, so she moved from the bed and walked over to a small rocking chair. She dragged it from the corner of the room and pulled a blanket from the closet. In time, Constance made herself a bed in its wicker frame. Off and on through the night she slept, waking up from a self-taught light sleep to check on her houseguest. By the time the rooster was crowing Constance had developed gray bags under her eyes, but she was sure Tom suffered no permanent damage from his head wound.

Tom awoke to the smell of coffee and a well made breakfast. His head still hurt, but nothing like it had the night before. Sunlight streamed through the curtains of his room and he watched dust particles flutter in and out of the beams. He pushed the quilt away, glanced to where he had seen Constance sleeping through the night and felt a pang of regret that she wasn't still there. Tom showered and quickly donned his borrowed clothes, then noted his own were gently stacked on a table by the door. He made a mental note to thank Constance for her trouble and changed from his borrowed clothes back into his own.

Downstairs he went, only to stop short as he watched a lovely round derrière wiggle to the sounds erupting from an old radio. He leaned against the banister of the steps and watched his hostess dance and gyrate in a manner that showed her inept ability to dance. In reality it didn't matter to Tom that Constance had two left feet. Her round hips, long but full thighs and her ample bosom were all that Tom was interested in. As she spun around his gaze went up to lock on her face. He grinned as he watched her halt and suddenly blush. Her lips rose in a grin and she reached behind her, flicking the radio off. "Good morning," she said, before making her way toward the kitchen. "Come on, I've got food for you and then we can head to that meeting."

"Oh damn," Tom muttered. "I'd forgotten all about that," he said as he followed her into the room. Once again he took the seat he'd used the night before and once again he was being served coffee and food by this good Samaritan. "Constance, I don't know how to thank you enough for last night, and of course for this morning and all you've done. How much do I owe you?"

Constance stopped eating and looked across the table. "Owe me?" she asked. "Tom, you don't owe me anything. I'm just glad I can help. Besides you've paid me back ten fold. It's been nice cooking for someone again. I missed that more than I realized."

Tom smiled shyly. "Well, glad I could be of help."

"Me too."

The couple continued eating, Tom complimenting the meal off and on as he shoveled in food. In time he felt himself relax and he stopped focusing on ways to repay Constance for her kindness. "Why has it been so long since you've cooked for someone?" Tom suddenly asked. He glanced at Constance and saw the strain of her features. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't ask personal questions like that."

Constance smiled back. "Oh don't apologize. I'm single, as you can see. I had a boyfriend before I moved out here. I broke things off with him after I caught him with someone else."

"Damn."

Constance shrugged her shoulders. "It shouldn't have surprised me, after all he'd cheated on me before, but I really thought this time he was over her and committed to me. Anywho, when Daddy died and his will gave me this place, I decided a fresh start was just what I needed. I have a part time job at the local nursing home and spend the rest of my time here. I don't date, so there isn't anyone to cook for. Mom refuses to take one step onto the farm, so she doesn't visit, so again no one to cook for. Cooking for you has been fun. I'll miss it when you leave."

"I'll miss it too. I'm single. I live off takeout and frozen microwave meals. My parents live too far from me to visit and have a home-cooked meal... besides mom burns most everything anyway, so I'd still opt to eat takeout."

Constance laughed and Tom found himself entranced. "So no husband or boyfriend. Have you ever been married?" he asked, then added quickly, "just tell me to shut up if I get too personal."

"Never been married. Me and the ex were engaged twice. I mentioned last night I was forty; I should have been married by now and have a couple of kids graduating or close to it, but it's just me. What about you?"

"I'm thirty-three, never married, rarely date. Hell, I'm still a vir..." the word died on Tom's lips as his cheeks grew red. He glanced at Constance then down at his scrambled eggs which suddenly looked foreign to him.

"Nothing wrong with that," she said casually, as if every day thirty-three-year-old virgins sat at her kitchen table.

"Well, you only say that because it's not you," Tom muttered and pushed a mouthful of egg between his teeth.

Constance stood up and squeezed his shoulder as she picked up the coffee pot and refilled his mug. "It'll happen, when its supposed to and with the right person."

Tom sighed. He had heard that before. He was tired of waiting for the right person. "Yeah, I know," he said and finished the last of his bacon. He pushed away from the table and rolled his shoulders. "The least I can do is the dishes. Why don't you get ready and by the time I'm done cleaning up here, we can take off."

Constance agreed, tightened the belt of her robe and left Tom to his musings in her kitchen. She made her way to her bedroom, then slipped into her personal bathroom, where she showered then later dried her hair and brushed the brunette locks out till they hung in waves over her shoulders. Her eyes caught her reflection in the mirror attached to the back of the door. Her hands ran over her body and she lifted her breasts. They didn't sag like some ladies did, but they didn't have the youthful appearance of her twenties either. She caressed the darkened circles of her areolas and watched as the ridges beaded up for attention and the peaks protruded out, wanting her to pull and tease them. She sighed and squeezed both beads, before letting her eyes drop to her rounded stomach. The five pounds she'd lost had been there; she was thankful for it. She wasn't ready to lose weight in her chest. Her hands rested on her stomach and she turned to admire and/or critique her profile. She would never be a model. She knew this, but the farming she'd done recently had helped her drop some weight and redefine some muscles. Her nails grazed over her ass cheeks and she tightened them. "Not bad," she told the woman in the mirror and then she heard the sound of banging cabinet doors.

She opened the bathroom door and hurried to her closet, where she pulled out a sweater and a simple black skirt. Soon she was back downstairs and leaning against the door frame of her kitchen, watching Tom work. It was obvious he was familiar with the washing and handling of dishes, which meant he didn't eat off of paper plates and plastic ware, other wise he wouldn't be handling her china with care. Or he did more domestic duties when he was visiting his parents. She smiled as she recalled his admission of his sexual experience or lack of it. What had possessed him to share that with her? She wondered. Eventually Constance cleared her throat, letting Tom know she was there. He turned toward her and she saw his eyes rake over her. Constance smirked and found herself staring back at him seductively.

Tom didn't miss the new look that crossed his hostess's face. He felt his body responding and swallowed nervously. "You look nice," he whispered. His fingers nervously toyed with the towel he held as he watched Constance make her way toward him. Her hands reached up and smoothed down the lapels of his sports coat. He felt the heat of her palms ride over him as she pushed them over his shirt and up to the tie he wore. She tightened it and he tried to remain calm as her nails grazed the outline of his collar.

"Thank you," she whispered back before stepping away. "Do you wear cologne?" she suddenly asked.

"Sometimes," Tom admitted, still not quite sure he was capable of having an intelligent conversation with the woman in front of him, or anyone for that matter. His body was on fire, his sex straining, and his hands itching to reach out and explore the feminine curves of the woman he was quickly developing a hunger for.

"There is some upstairs in my bedroom. I bought if for my ex, but he never wore it... since I never gave it to him. If you'd like, you're welcome to it. My rooms just two doors down from yours and the cologne is on the dresser in a black gift box," she said before stepping around Tom to disappear into the wash closet where she kept their coats.

Tom darted up the stairs and found Constance's room. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it for support. His eyes closed as he breathed in the scent of the woman who had shown him nothing but kindness. He chastised himself for the thoughts that were running around in his head. He took another breath, opened his eyes and pushed himself from the door. His gaze fell on her bed and he remembered the dream he'd had last night. He could see Constance, wrapped in his arms; he in hers. Their legs were entwined, their lips and fingers constantly seeking out new places to explore. Before Tom realized what he was doing, he found himself standing next to her bed, his fingers running slowly across the dent in her pillow. He shook himself out of his reverie and headed to the dresser where he spotted the gift box she spoke of. Again he became entranced with the whatnots that graced the polished surface of the dresser top. Jewelry, both small and dainty rested along more bold pieces. Different polishes and lotions, as well as various perfume bottles littered the space and Tom wondered which scent she wore last night. He picked up one bottle and sniffed it, then another, eventually he found the fragrance and breathed it in. "Beautiful," he whispered, before hearing her steps coming up the stairs.

Quickly Tom replaced the bottle and lifted the gift box; by the time Constance stepped in he was splashing the cologne over his earlier shaven features. "Smell good?" he asked as he set the bottle down. Much to his surprise, Constance stepped up and pressed herself against him, breathed deep and moaned softly.

"Oh very nice indeed. It's yours," she said, lingering against him and taking another whiff of the expensive scent.

Tom felt his cock jerk in response to her proximity and he placed his hands on her arms to steady himself. He was actually lightheaded and he knew it wasn't from the cologne or his head injury. "I couldn't," he said as he stepped away from Constance, still keeping their distance close enough to hold her.

"You can and shall," she insisted, smiling up at him and then easing from his grasp. "Besides there is no one here to wear it and it'll gather dust if you don't take it." She picked up the box and took his right hand, placed it in the palm then turned away. "I'll meet you in the garage," she called out as she bounded down the steps.

Tom shook his head and headed down after her. He closed the garage door and placed the box in the seat behind his chair. "Thanks Constance," he said as he buckled himself into his seat. "If we could swing by my car, I'm sure I can drive myself."

"Connie," she said.

"Huh?"

"You called me Connie last night. You can call me that again if you want. As far as you driving yourself," she laughed and hit the garage door button. "I don't think so," she added, as the sound of the door rising on its pull system filled the room. "You had a hard knock on your head. I'll drive you. I've got a few errands I can run while your in your meeting, then I'll bring you back here, by then your car will be towed up to the farm and after another night under my roof, I'll release you."

"Connie, I can't keep imposing on you... especially if you're not going to let me reimburse you."

Constance sighed as she drove down the drive and out onto the road. "Tom, I told you, your company is payment enough. Now do you need to stop at your car for anything or do I drive on to Hampshire?"

"I need some papers, then you can chauffeur me around, though you did forget to wear the proper uniform all my chauffeurs wear." He winked at her and smiled when she rolled her dark brown eyes at him.

"Glad to see you come with a sense of humor and not just a dashing smile."

"Dashing smile?" Tom asked. "I didn't think you noticed," he winked again.

"Oh I noticed... that and other things." This time it was her turn to wink as she lifted her brows and swept her eyes from his face to his groin. She grinned wide as he shifted in his seat, a soft chuckle fell from her lips and she couldn't help but giggle aloud. "You're cute, Tom."

Tom sighed. "Cute is not what a thirty-three year old man wants to hear."

"Oh? Would you rather I say... You're one hot stud muffin."

Tom's laughter erupted from his chest eventually mingling in with Constance's. In time they reached his car and Tom picked up the briefcase full of papers he needed for his morning meeting. The couple made small talk, touching on local politics, as well as briefly discussing childhood memories, past dates, both failed and enjoyed ones, as well as sharing the antics of friends that Tom had and co-workers that Constance did or didn't care for.

By the time Constance pulled into the parking lot of the building Tom directed her too, she was very much surprised at the growing attraction she was having toward the young man. He wasn't that much younger than her, only seven years, but she did have a wealth of knowledge in life in general. It surprised her to find herself wanting to spend more time with Tom and as he exited the vehicle she leaned over and grabbed his hand. "Do you get a lunch break?" she asked.

Tom glanced down at her hand, squeezed it and tucked his head back into the car. "At noon, we're breaking for lunch. I get an hour, though they are providing a buffet here. You don't have to..."

"I want to," she said and squeezed his hand back, before pulling it away. Tom shut the door and walked away, pausing to look back and watch her drive out of the parking lot. He shook his head, somewhat amazed that he'd met such a warm, sophisticated creature that seemed interested in him.