Hummingbird Rose Ch. 01

"This is a popular place," Patrick says, opening his menu.

Rose scans the selections. "Wait till you taste the food. The grilled octopus salad is out of this world."

"I've never tried octopus."

"No?"

"But what the hell?" he says. "I'm game."

What else are you game for? "I'm sure."

They settle in, glancing at each other over their menus before ordering. The second date banalities proceed. Traffic on the drive over. What to order. Work.

They decide on a bottle of Cabernet and the octopus salad to share as an appetizer.

Patrick tells Rose about his day as they dive into the salad.

"I didn't think the flight school would be so successful so soon." He gives her a here-comes-the-punchline grin. "You know, it's really taken off."

Rose rolls her eyes but makes sure to smile. It's a good thing he's hot. "Very clever."

"Pilot humor," he says.

"More like a dad joke."

"We'll, I'm a dad so it comes with the territory."

Rose tries the wine. It's good. "You have two, right?"

"Sarah's twenty-one, following in my footsteps at Annapolis."

"You must be proud."

"I am. Patrick's nineteen and in college for music."

"That's two different career paths," Rose says.

"They're two different kids. I'm happy for both of them."

"No tension between the military dad and the musician son?" Rose asks.

"None." Patrick says. "I believe in following your dreams. My dream has always been to fly. His dream is to make music. The world needs both."

"True enough," she says. "Do all your dreams involve airplanes?"

Patrick casts her a sly grin. "Not all of them."

Rose takes a bite of salad. Let the flirting begin. "No, but I bet they all involve a perfect landing on the runway."

Patrick raises an eyebrow. "I do like giving my passengers a perfect ride."

"A rough ride isn't the worst thing in the world." Rose sips her wine. Top that.

He doesn't miss a beat. "The most important thing is knowing your airplane. How she performs. What she can handle." He pauses, catching her eye. "How far she can be pushed before things get dangerous."

The Force is strong with this one. "I imagine it's important to know how to make her respond."

Patrick locks eyes with her. "Nothing's more important."

Agreed.

They finish their salad, the waitress taking the plate away. They share a long, silent stare. Rose puts her hand atop Patrick's.

"You only have one, right?" he says.

Rose is confused. "What?"

"One kid."

Back to regular date conversation, are we? Fine. Speaking in nothing but sexual innuendo is exhausting. "Yup. One and done for me."

"I'm an only child," Patrick says.

"Me too."

"Did you ever feel lonely or want siblings?"

"Not all," Rose says "I had the complete attention of both parents growing up and I loved it."

"You like being the center of attention, don't you?"

Only because I deserve it. "That depends on the context. You'll figure it out."

"I hope so."

You'd better. "I'm not complicated. Lavish me with attention and do whatever I say, and I'll be happy."

"I'll try to remember that."

Make sure you do.

The entrees arrive. Orecchiette with sausage for Rose, linguini and clams for Patrick.

Rose breathes in the luxurious aromas of her dish. Letting them tease her nose, awakening her appetite.

She tastes some. The flavors are bold but not overpowering, the textures in balance. The taste lingers on her lips. "That's good. Damn good."

She washes it down with a sip of the Cabernet, concentrating. The boldness of the wine compliments the spiciness of the sausage. Balance again. A coming together of opposites.

Patrick watches her, smiling.

"I'm sorry," Rose says. "I get carried away. I'm a very sensual person."

"I see."

"This dish appeals on so many levels."

Patrick winds linguini around his fork. "Go on. I like seeing you enjoy yourself."

I bet. "Where to begin? The sight of the dish and the aroma. The feel of it on my lips. And on my tongue. Food like this, I like to give it the attention it deserves. No need to rush our pleasures."

"No need at all." Patrick samples his meal.

"How about yours?" Rose asks. "Tell me."

"The pasta's fresh. Good. I appreciate quality. And the clams add subtlety." He meets her gaze. "I appreciate the sublime."

Okay, he's good. "What else?"

"The chorizo. It makes the whole dish." He pauses again. "It brings a little heat."

Yeah, really good. "Gotta love the heat, right?"

Rose takes another bite of her dish, chewing it slowly, wondering how good a kisser Patrick is. Time to draw him out. Make him feel interesting. "Tell me more about the navy."

"Gosh. Where to start?"

"I'm sure you've seen some places," she says.

"A few."

She takes another bite of pasta. "Tell me some."

"Let's see. I spent time stationed in Yokosuka, Japan and at Ramstein in Germany."

"That must've been something."

"It was," he says.

"You sound regretful."

"I enjoyed those places, I did." He pauses. "But it came at a cost. It's not an easy way to raise a family."

Rose spears more orecchiette. "How long have you been divorced?"

"Two years. Yourself?"

"Three days."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Three days?"

"I'm not one to stand around and let life pass me by."

Patrick takes a bite of his food. "I can tell."

"Can you?" She meets his gaze. "What else can you tell?"

"You're a woman who appreciates being appreciated."

I sure hope he's as good in bed as he is at verbal sparring. "Am I? And how'd you know?"

"It's obvious."

"Is it?" Rose says. "Then tell me what you think you know about me. Don't be shy, either. Out with it."

"Alright." He leans forward. "You make your own rules. You decide what you want out of life and go for it."

Duh. "Now you're telling me what I want to hear."

"Am I wrong?"

"I didn't say that," she says. "Go on."

"You're smart," he says.

"So I'm told."

"You don't tolerate bullshit," he says.

Rose spears a piece of sausage. "Correct again."

"You say what's on your mind."

If only. "Sometimes."

He eyes her carefully. "You always get what you want."

I will tonight. "Frequently."

"You're a woman of few words."

She shrugs.

"You've got a dark streak," he says.

"Granted."

Patrick pauses. "Deep down, you don't give a fuck."

He sees me. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you understand the key to life."

"I do?" Rose says. "What's that?"

"To know what things are worth giving a fuck about and what things aren't. How'd I do?"

Spot on. "Okay, I suppose."

"Now do me."

Rose pounces. "Do you? Aren't we forward?"

"I meant--"

"I know. Remember the part where I like to tease?"

"Of course."

Rose takes another bite of her meal. "So you want to know what I can tell you about you, do you?"

"Go ahead."

"I know there's more to you than meets the eye."

Patrick twirls linguini onto his fork. "Maybe."

There always is. "No one's an open book. But you're different."

"Am I?"

"You're a good man," she says. "But you're not proud of every decision you've ever made."

Patrick studies her. "Doesn't everyone feel that way about themselves?"

Shit. He's onto me. "Very likely. But I go back to my original point. There's more to you than meets the eye."

"I hope so."

Rose smiles. So do I.

They linger over their meals, Rose downing a second glass of wine. Patrick takes his time, nursing his glass. Keeping it at one.

Rose senses he's getting ready to make his move, waiting for the right moment.

"You live right down the street, don't you?" he says.

There it is. "Why don't we head over there and have another drink?"

"Sounds great," he says.

Patrick pays the check. Rose doesn't object. Let him feel masculine in the traditional sense, like he's the one taking the lead. All in the game.

They hop in Patrick's Pathfinder, Rose giving him directions to her place.

Her phone buzzes. A text from Eric again. "Looking forward to tomorrow. How's 12:30?"

She texts back a smile emoji and turns her phone off.

It's all about her and Patrick tonight.

***

Rose's house is on a long street with no outlet. Along one side of Osprey Lane, the houses have a lagoon for a backyard and most people own boats.

On Rose's side are stretches of salt marsh behind the houses then the bay. Beyond, a thin barrier island between bay and ocean. In the morning, Rose can watch the sunrise over the water from her bedroom.

They pull into Rose's driveway. Mrs. Driscoll, her neighbor from across the street, is walking her little dog. Rose gives the old lady a halfhearted wave and turns away, leading Patrick inside.

Rose's home is modern, all hard angles and wraparound windows. Stylish and edgy, softened only by the landscaping out front. Red and purple foxglove in full bloom.

"Have a seat," Rose turns on the lights after they enter. "I'll pour us some wine."

"I like your place," Patrick says.

"Thanks."

She tells her smart speaker to play music from Rose's Mellow Romance playlists. "You Make Loving Fun" by Fleetwood Mac comes on. Perfect.

Rose retrieves a bottle of pinot, uncorking it as the lyrics begin and singing along.

She pours them each a glass as Patrick looks around her great room. The highlight is the wall of windows facing the bay from floor to ceiling. Outside is a patio centered around a firepit.

Vivid abstract paintings adorn one of the walls perpendicular to the windows. The other wall features a fireplace flanked by two built-in bookcases.

Rose flips a switch. The bookcases light up, illuminating the magenta and pink glassware on the shelves. Setting them aglow. The effect, especially at night, is striking.

"Wow," Patrick says.

Another switch and the sleek, modern fireplace comes to life. Gentle, flickering flames dance within. A final touch of ambiance to set the mood.

Rose walks around the kitchen island towards him, glasses of wine in hand. His attention has shifted to the opposite wall. She hands him one of the glasses.

"I love your style" He points to one of the paintings. "This especially."

"I didn't expect you'd be the modern art type."

"I'm not, usually." He stares at the piece, tilting his head. "But this I like."

"Why?" Rose says. "What do you like about it?"

"The colors. The shades of orange and red. The way they interact with each other. The way the touches of white are so jarring. It's a study in contrasts."

A study in contrasts. Just the effect she sought when she painted it.

Rose sips wine. "I knew there's more about you than meets the eye."

"Appearances can be deceiving."

"No question," she says. "You really like it, though?"

"Very much."

They adjourn to the bright red leather sectional. They chat about the other paintings in the room. All Rose's work. She doesn't tell him.

Patrick stares towards the windows. "That view must be spectacular in the morning."

"It is."

The music changes to "We've Only Just Begun" by the Carpenters. I hope so.

Time to reel this one in. The way he looks at her, she's sure it won't take much. Her hand brushes his forearm as she laughs at a remark of his. His eyes brighten at her touch.

She gives him a suggestive smile and pushes her glasses down to the tip of her nose, meeting his gaze. A trick which has never failed her.

Patrick's eyes widen. "You're so damned hot, you know that?"

All too easy. "Am I? Tell me more. What do you like the most? What's most hot about me?"

"Your eyes," he says.

"Bullshit."

He's taken aback. "What?"

"Come on. My eyes are pretty, but that's not what you think is the hottest thing about me, is it?"

"Your eyes are more than pretty," he protests.

"Fine. They're dazzling. But are they the hottest thing about me? Are they what drew you to me?"

"No."

Now we're getting somewhere. "Then knock it off. Tell me the truth."

He meets her gaze. "The truth?"

"The truth."

"Alright. Your tits."

Knew it. "That's what I'm talking about. What else?"

"Your ass."

"What about it?" she asks.

"It's size. It's a nice big ass."

She inches closer, meeting his gaze. "Keep going. What else?"

"Your thighs and your belly. Your black hair. Your lips. The birthmark on your shoulder. Your tattoos. And, yes, your dazzling eyes."

"You like all that about me?"

"Yes. I like it all."

"Do you?" She slides still closer.

"Yes."

"Tell me," she says. "Tell me what you want to do with me."

"I want to make love to you," he says.

Rose rolls her eyes. "Come on. Make love to me?"

Patrick looks confused. "But I thought-"

"There's a whole lot you want to do to me right now," Rose says. "And none of it is about making love. Don't be coy. I'm done playing that game, and I bet you'd like to be too. Correct?"

"Correct," he says.

"Then let's leave that behind. So I'll ask you again. What do you want to do with me? To me?"

Fire is in his eyes. "I want to fuck you."

Finally. "Now we're getting somewhere. How? How do you want to fuck me?"

"You never let up, do you?" Patrick says.

You don't know the half of it. "Am I worth it?"

"Yeah," he says

"Then tell me," she says. "How do you want to fuck me?"

"Hard. Crazy hard."

She licks her lower lip. "Keep going. Don't hold back."

"I want to fuck you like you've never been fucked before."

Rose nods. "That's what I'm talking about."

"I want to fuck you like you're being fucked by an entire squadron of men who love women like you."

Keep going. Don't let up. "Women like me?"

"You know," he says.

"Tell me." Their faces are inches apart. "What kind of woman?"

"You know."

"But I want to hear you say it," Rose says. "What kind of women? Optometrists?"

He grins. "No."

Rose tilts her head. "Divorced women?"

He shakes his head. "No."

She raises an eyebrow. "Italian-American women?"

"They're frequently hot but, no, that's not it."

"What else about me? Moms approaching forty?"

"Also hot, but no."

Clever boy. "College graduates? Tattooed chicks?"

"No. Fine traits, though."

"What kind of woman? Say it." She stares into his eyes, an inch from his face. "Say it."

"Big women," he whispers.

There we go. "Again."

"Big women."

"Again!"

"Big women. Big women with big asses and tits and bellies. Big, beautiful women!"

"Fat chicks," she says. "Don't be afraid of the term."

"Yes, fat chicks," he says. "That's what I want, what I've always wanted."

Rose locks her gaze upon him. "Kiss me."

They kiss. Slow, at first, lips exploring each other. Testing boundaries. The first taste of a new lover.

Patrick's tongue pushes outward, towards her mouth. Rose's lips part, admitting him. Their tongues duel, twirling about each other.

"You wanna grab my tits, don't you?" Rose whispers.

"Yeah."

"Go ahead," she says. "Don't be shy."

Patrick cups a breast. He squeezes it, feeling its softness and size. Testing its weight before kneading it harder.

"You like them, don't you?" Rose asks.

Patrick kisses her again, unrestrained and lustful. His hand pressing against her tit the whole time.

The music changes again, "Love Train" by the O'Jays. All aboard.

"I want you so bad," she whispers.

"I want you, too," he says.

"Let's go for it. Fuck the shit out of me."

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"So much," she says "Enough screwing around. Show me what you've got."

Patrick kisses her hard, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. Rose moans in appreciation. He kisses her neck, hand still squeezing her breast. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling him towards her. They're strong, all taut muscles.

Their mouths find each other again, lips attacking each other without restraint. Frantic for one another. Desperate in their lust, a symphony of tongues and lips. Rose doesn't want it to end. But she's too horny. She wants more.

Rose withdraws. "I've got too many clothes on."

"Then let's get you out of them," Patrick says.

Rose stands, an ain't-I-irresistible expression on her face. She holds his gaze and unzips the back of her dress enough for it to slide off her shoulders. She shimmies out of it, kicking off her pumps, and is down to matching blue bra and panties.

Patrick's eyes are wide as they run over her figure. He's frozen in place. Speechless.

That's right, boy. Bask in the glory of your goddess. "Like what you see?"

He stares at her. "So fucking much."

"Now you're the one who's overdressed," she says.

Patrick stands, unbuttoning his shirt. He lets it fall to the floor and peels off his undershirt.

He's well built, more like a fit forty than one approaching the half century mark. Wow.

"Oh, my. Look at you." She runs her hands up his arms, over his shoulders, and across his chest.

Patrick sighs. Men do love to be caressed and admired, don't they? The same as women.

He inhales deep, gazing at her with a glow in his eyes. He pulls her close to him. Her tits mash against his hard chest, their mouths seeking each other out again. Eager, intense kissing resumes. Rose moans, her eyes rolling back. Holy shit.

Patrick undoes the clasp on her bra without fumbling. Not his first rodeo, is it?

Patrick gets his first view of her tits. HerH cups would be oversized on a skinnier chick but are perfect for her frame. Their crowning glory are dark pink areola and pierced, erect nipples. They rest upon her round, soft belly. Perfect fat girl boobs and belly.

"Holy shit." Patrick grabs her tits, one with each hand.

Rose meets his gaze, smiling.

She pushes Patrick back onto the couch. He stares at her as she pushes down her panties and wriggles out of them. His eyes sweep over her body, taking her in.

Rose closes her eyes, swaying gently. What must Patrick be appreciating about her nude form? Her long black tresses? Her striking face and full mouth? Her soft shoulders and arms? Her gigantic tits, of course, but what else?

Perhaps her wide thighs or soft belly. Her wide hips and thick thighs. Her belly button ring. Her ink, as well. Patrick hasn't seen all her tattoos until now.

Rose keeps them mostly to her upper arms and her legs, all easy to cover up at work. Patients may notice her dark make-up or black nail polish. They take note of her nose ring, too, and conclude Doctor Colibrì is on the edgy side. These days, people don't care.

Her full look is another matter. A raven covers her left upper arm, orange roses and an owl decorate her right. On her right thigh is a multicolored peacock. On her left, a phoenix rises from a vivid array of colors. On her calves day lilies and assorted songbirds perch on branches of elm and oak. A trio of hummingbirds hover above her smoothly shaved pussy.

Rose steps forward, giving Patrick time to take her all in. "Well? What do you think?"

His eyes are fixed upon her. "I think you might be the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen."

You're goddamn right I am. Rose straddles him and they kiss. Wild kissing, frenzied and eager. Patrick gropes her tits, kneading them. His hands all over them.

Rose moans. Patrick takes one of her pierced nipples into his mouth and sucks it hard and long before switching to the other one.

"Give them a nibble," Rose moans. He obliges, Rose groaning in response. He switches to her other tit, giving it the same treatment. He goes back and forth. Taking his time enjoying her giant breasts.

"Magic Man," by Heart begins.