tagRomanceI Lost His Number

I Lost His Number


Disclaimer: All characters are over eighteen years of age. This story contains gratuitous drama and inordinate amounts of sex that never result in chafing.

Editing credit: Blind_Justice

Copyright © 2012 redskyes


Kyle and I had been dating for just over a year. His firm had two offices, one in Houston, where I lived, and the home office in Rockport. Kyle frequently bounced between them, but we managed to find time for each other. We were introduced by our coworkers at a party after our partnered firms won a lawsuit. But things were starting to get stale. I was pretty sure it was my fault. I’m not outgoing, not confident, and I’m definitely not what you’d call exciting. Our sex life was fine, but that’s all. Kyle had all but told me that he was bored, but something was missing for me too. Don’t get me wrong, Kyle was an attentive lover, but more often than not, I’d wait until he fell asleep and sneak into the bathroom to find the release that almost always evaded me when I was with him. It was a problem that, historically speaking, was not limited to Kyle.

When we first met, Kyle practically worshipped me, but these days, I saw him stealing furtive glances at other girls more and more frequently. We didn’t talk into the late hours of the night, like we used to, and we didn’t flirt anymore. We just kind of meandered about through our relationship, sometimes crashing at his apartment or my house, growing more and more distant over time, more complacent. It felt like things were almost over between us, and maybe they should have been, but I was comfortable, and compared to the fear of throwing myself out into the dating world again and risk being crushed, like I’d been before Kyle came along, Kyle was the safe choice.

I needed to try to save us, try something, anything, and if that necessitated coming out of my shell, as Melanie liked to say, then so be it.

Kyle’s birthday was coming up, and I wanted to do something special for him, something to put the spark back in our lives, something to convince him that I was worth sticking around for. I hadn’t let on anything to Kyle. He had no idea what I was planning for him. Of course, neither did I, and that’s why I called my sister, Melanie.

“Hey, sweetie!” she answered the phone with her typical bubbly charm. “How’s my big sister?”

I chuckled, rummaging through the drawers in my bathroom, looking for my favorite lipstick. “You know I’m only fifteen months older than you, right?”

“So? I’ve always looked up to you. You know that,” she told me.

I smiled, having found my lipstick. Sure, it’s only Covergirl, but Ruby Slipper looks fantastic with my hair and complexion.

“Never understood that, Mel,” I replied, glancing at the mirror.

The mirror may as well have been a window, with my sister on the other side of the glass. We were nearly identical in appearance. Both of us had burnt-red hair that fell past our shoulders, hazel eyes, light skin, and we were the exact same height at five-foot-four. Melanie and I got all of our looks from our mother, who was Czechian through and through. Dad had been an international broker when he met her on an overseas trip. It was love at first sight for them.

“What’s to understand?” Melanie asked.

Melanie was definitely the outgoing one of the two of us. I like to say I’m reserved. Melanie likes to say I’m a wallflower. There was some truth to that, I had to admit.

“Well, you’re just so…” I began, trying to find the right words. “You’re confident, I guess.”

She was also pretty self-centered, if I was being completely honest, living in a bubble where she was completely unaware of the feelings of those around her. But she was my sister, and my best friend, and I knew she loved me, so I’d never tell her that.

“And you’re not?” she said doubtfully.

“Not like you,” I chuckled, applying my lipstick and smacking my lips.

“Yeah, I don’t get that, Lyd. I mean, we’re practically twins.”

I dabbed my lips with a tissue. “And?”

“I’m fucking gorgeous.”

“And not vain in the slightest,” I rolled my eyes at my reflection in the mirror.

Melanie laughed. “My point is that aside from the birthmark on my butt, you’re a spitting image of me.”

She was right, for the most part. Our eyes weren’t the exact same shape. When standing side by side, you could see that Melanie’s eyes were just a touch bigger than mine. Other than that, the little heart-shaped mark on her right butt cheek was the only thing to differentiate us, and it was a really tiny mark.

I always thought Melanie was beautiful, even perfect. Standing there looking in the mirror, I saw her plain as day. But I didn’t feel beautiful, not like she did.

“You turn heads just as much as I do,” Melanie added.

“Looks go only so far, Mel,” I replied, frowning into the mirror. True, I could turn heads just as well as Melanie, but I couldn’t keep the attention like she could. “Anyway, that’s actually why I’m calling. Kyle’s birthday is this Saturday, and I want to do something fun.”

“Oh?” she said, sound intrigued. “As in ‘golly-gee, Scrabble sure is swell’? Or more like ‘yeah, that’s it baby, right there’?”

Here’s the thing. When Melanie thinks fun, she thinks naughty. When I think fun, I think of scrapbooking. I had a good job as a paralegal. The people I worked with were more friends than just coworkers. My boss, Jeremy, was wonderful to work for. I had a nice car, a small but adorably cute house with a swimming pool out back. I was healthy, fit, and if I believed Melanie, sexy as hell. But, I was thirty-two years old, unmarried, and I could count on one hand the number of relationships I’ve had, without using my thumb.

My reflection blushed. “Actually, the latter.”

“Lydia Jane Stafford, it’s about time!” Melanie squealed.

“Mel, I have no idea what to do,” I said quietly, standing in front of the mirror in my bathrobe, looking sullen. I told her how things stood with Kyle, that I wanted to ‘spice things up’, to try to save us.

“I know exactly what you’re going to do,” Melanie said, eagerly laying it all out for me.

I was surprised that a very small part of me was disappointed when she didn’t try to convince me to just end things with Kyle, to move on. I hadn’t expected to feel that at all. But the rest of me screamed for me to forge ahead, that being with Kyle was better than being with nobody.

An hour later, after a lot of hesitance on my part, I had a plan for Kyle’s birthday surprise. I could have carried it out at my place, but Kyle was working from the home office that week, so that he could see his family for his birthday. A week later, I made the nearly four hour drive to Melanie’s beach house in Rockport. It was small but cute, like my own home. Thankfully, Melanie believed in housekeeping services, because they kept her place spotless. There wasn’t a thing for me to do when I got there, except for unpacking the groceries and getting dinner in the oven. Homemade lasagna was Kyle’s favorite. With that done, the table set, a bottle of wine ready to go and candles ready to be lit all over the place, it was time for me to brave the next part of the evening’s setup.

The contraption.

At least that’s what I called it.

Standing in the doorway to my sister’s room, I just stared at the cables and pulleys, the belts and buckles, the cuffs and snaps, and the heavy metal frame. It’s kind of hard to picture, I know, but if an aerotrim and a sex swing had babies, this would be their offspring. Think Cirque du Soleil, but a one woman show version. Basically, whoever was in the thing could be manipulated almost like a marionette. Melanie called it the Love Machine, and she’d given me explicit instructions on how to use the thing. Personally, I thought the whole getup was awfully reminiscent of a medieval torture device. I rolled my eyes at the thought, just as I’d rolled my eyes when she’d told me what it was called.

Anyway, it had been a gift from Grant, Melanie’s long-time boyfriend. They’d been together for years. I’d actually met Grant before Melanie, and he was the one that got away.

Chapter 1

Grant and I met when I visited Dallas, Texas, helping Jeremy on a class action suit he’d been spearheading at the time.

Not that Dallas was a long trip for me, seeing as how I’m from Houston.

We’d met at a bar, actually. The trip wasn’t fun. It was a lot of hard work, a lot of late nights, not nearly enough sleep and way too much stress. Melanie had been living in Dallas at the time, working at one of the hospitals there, a nurse. I was hoping that she’d be able to meet me at the bar after her shift was over, but she called and told me they’d been short-staffed that night, and she had to work a triple.

I’d just started to feel a warm buzz coming on when a gorgeous guy slid up to the bar.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

Tractors and trailers, was that man hot as hell. He was tall, much, much taller than me, almost by a foot, if not more. He had short, dark brown hair and big brown eyes, and deeply tanned skin. He wore western boots, blue jeans, and an untucked gray tee shirt that was so tight it looked painted on, letting me see every line of his muscular frame.

“Sh-sure,” I stammered, brushing my hair out of my eyes.

He smiled and raised his hand to the bartender. While he ordered our drinks, a Tom Collins for me and a Ziegenbock for himself, my gaze was riveted to the muscles of his neck, his shoulders, his arm, the way they corded when he moved. He seemed to know the bartender, because they talked for a couple of minutes. I used the time to study him.

It was the small details that got to me. His boots were dark brown, but not like they’d been made that way. They were worn out, stained and scuffed from God only knew what the man did for a living. His jeans weren’t brand new. I could see a pale outline of where his wallet had worn away at the denim of his back pocket. The leather of his wide belt was cracked with age and use, the big silver buckle polished to a bright sheen, but I could see where the polishing hadn’t gotten into the fine grooves of the embossed design of longhorns flanked by what I thought were crows. His shirt was tight, but it hadn’t been bought that way. I could tell with a glance that it would be incredibly soft, broken in over time, and that he’d filled out since he got it.

“Grant,” he said.

I blinked, found him smiling at me, friendly and warm. How long had he been watching me stare at him?

“I’m sorry?”

His smile reached his eyes and he offered me his hand. “My name. Grant.”

“Oh, right,” I laughed nervously and shook his hand. “Lydia.”

“Lydia,” he said slowly, testing the name on his tongue, and holding my hand longer than most people would. His smile fell and his eyes were intense when he asked, “Where have you been?”

“I don’t understand.”

“My whole life,” he said, that wonderfully warm smile returning.

I laughed.

The bartender brought our drinks over. Grant and I quickly fell into comfortable conversation. He seemed genuinely intrigued about my legal work, and I was amazed, and not too surprised at the same time, when he told me that he worked on natural gas wells.

Feeling brave, thanks to the liquid courage, I took his hand in mine and brought his wrist up to my mouth, letting my lips graze his skin while I breathed in the scent of him, musky, spicy, warm, and I know it’s cheesy to say, but all man. His eyes burned when I did that.

“Funny, you don’t smell like rotten eggs,” I told him, still holding his hand but letting it fall into my lap.

Grant grinned, “I should hope not. I showered last week. Twice.”

I laughed, probably too loud, but considering how much I’d had to drink, not surprising.

We fell back into conversation, and the entire time, his hand was a prisoner in my lap, between both of mine. I listened to everything he had to say about his job, his family, his friends, his childhood. Grant’s father had started the company that he worked for, and when he passed away, Grant’s mother took it over, handling the day to day business. His oldest brother designed the wells, and Grant and the rest of his brothers, four in all, handled the maintenance. I couldn’t get over how his hand felt, so much bigger than mine, almost twice as big, his palm and pads of his fingers rough from hard labor, but so very warm, and I was pretty sure he had more muscle in that one hand than I had in one leg.

One of the flat-panels over the bar was showing a commercial for the Blu-Ray release of the Star Wars collection. Grant shook his head.

“Not a Star Wars fan?” I asked, smiling with amusement, but hoping I’d misjudged. I mean, come on, who doesn’t love Star Wars?

He shrugged and regarded me, “Sure, but Lucas creeps me out.”

“How so?”

“Nobody talks about the staff,” he said, his thumb softly playing over the back of my hand.

“The staff?” I frowned.

“Yeah, on the Death Star,” he grinned, turning on his stool to face me. “Over two and a half million people were on the thing, or the second one, at least. Nobody talks about the people that worked in the cafeteria, the janitorial workers, the support technicians, plumbers, electricians. They weren’t soldiers. They just worked there.”

My smile was widening, watching him animate while he talked about a sci-fi flick. A classic, sure, but still, it was a stark contrast to his southern good ol’ boy appearance.

Grant went on, “I mean, yeah, the rebels had to blow it up, but man, all those lives? Pretty brutal.”

I laughed.

“You think this is funny?” He arched an eyebrow and grinned. “Just go back and watch episodes one through three again. Notice how almost everybody that dies is either a droid, clone, or some other non-humanoid?” Grant pointed a finger at me. “See? Even Lucas realized there was a morality issue.”

God, he was so cute, handsome, and sexy, all at the same time.

It was probably an hour later when I realized how tired I was, mostly because a yawn escaped me. I’d relaxed a bit much on my stool too. My legs had opened enough for our hands to slip between my thighs. Granted, my dress was in the way, but still, definitely not lady-like of me. I’d been molesting that big strong hand of his with both of mine for a while now, caressing it with my fingers.

Grant cocked his head just a little.

“How drunk are you?” he asked.

Feeling saucy, I replied, “Why? Are you about to invite me back to your place?”

He chuckled and his smile reached his eyes again. “Actually, I was going to offer you a ride back to your hotel. I don’t think you’re fit to drive.”

Part of me was a little disappointed, despite how chivalrous he was being, which I found appealing. The drunk part of me wanted him to take advantage of me, because sober, I would never have the courage to let loose and have fun like this. Besides, it had been two years since I’d, well, you know. Suffice to say, what with the effect of the booze, I was more than willing to break the dry spell I’d found myself in.

I took up Grant on his offer. I was so amazed when he didn’t try to pay for my drinks, except for the one he’d bought me. He said something to the bartender, then scribbled a note on a napkin and handed it over.

Grant slid his arm around my waist to help steady me on our way to the door. In the parking lot, his arm slid up my back and around my shoulders, much more comfortable for us, since I was so much shorter than him. He pulled me right up against him, and I was more than happy to let him do it. The line of his body beside me was warm and hard, and I loved it.

As expected, Grant drove a truck, an early eighties Chevy Silverado. It wasn’t in pristine condition, having seen a lot of hard work over the years, worn, tough, and strong, like him. Every man I had dated up to that point in my life had driven a luxury or sports car. I had come to expect it, I realized, but I liked how different Grant was, strong, rough around the edges, but so very charming, so very warm and friendly.

He helped me up into the passenger seat, his hand under my thigh, almost on my butt, and went around to his side. The truck roared to life. I gave him directions and we were on our way. I watched him as he drove, studied his profile, the line of his strong jaw, corded muscles of his neck and arms, and especially his hands where they gripped the steering wheel. God, I loved his hands. They’d felt great in mine. I wondered what they would feel like touching other parts of me.

Grant noticed me gazing at him and grinned just a little, watching the road.

“What was the note?” I asked.

“An apology,” he told me, taking a right turn towards the hotel. “I was supposed to be meeting someone.” He laughed then and gave me a sheepish grin. “Blind date, actually.”

I turned in my seat to face him, as much as the seatbelt allowed. “Why on God’s green earth would you need to go on a blind date?”

He chuckled. “Is that a compliment?”

“Yes,” I smiled at him.

He grinned and shook his head. “Bars aren’t really my scene. I don’t drink much, and you can’t really get to know someone in a bar, if that makes any sense.”

It made a lot of sense. I don’t know how many failed dates I’d been on that began in a bar.

His eyebrows pinched together and he added, “Although, I seem to be getting to know you well enough.”

I smiled happily, feeling like a teenager again.

“But you went anyway,” I said.

He sighed and nodded, pulling the truck up in front of my hotel. “It’s been a while since I’ve…”

“Gotten laid?” I finished for him, quirking an eyebrow.

He looked me right in the eyes and gave me a shy grin. “I was going to say since I’ve been on a date, but yes, that works too.”

Like I said, it had been two years for me. Grant was so handsome, so unlike the men I had dated up to that point in my life. I sat there in his truck, right on front of my hotel, knowing that I should just get out and go up to my room, sleep off the alcohol. But that’s not what I did.

“The valet will park your truck in the garage,” I said quietly.

Grant gave me an intense look, eyes flicking back and forth to mine. I held my breath, prepped myself for his polite decline, but then he swallowed, threw the truck in park and got out. He came around to my side, giving his keys and a wad of cash to the valet, then opened my door and helped me out.

We didn’t hold hands. We walked through the lobby side by side and stepped into the elevator, my heart pounding in my chest, nervous and excited. Neither of his said a word, not when the elevator stopped and the doors opened on my floor, not when I unlocked the door to my room and stepped inside.

Before the door had closed behind us, he grabbed my arm and turned me around to face him, and all I could see was his broad chest. He leaned over and I lifted my chin, finding his mouth with mine. My God, his lips were so soft, so warm, so right. He was so tall though. I had to really crane my neck to kiss him.

With a groan of frustration, Grant wrapped his arms around me, one around my back, the other just below my butt. He lifted me clear off the floor and crushed me against him. The kiss deepened, his tongue plunging into my mouth with surprising fervor. Christ, his mouth tasted amazing. He was walking, carrying me as we kissed, my pumps slipping off my feet to the floor. He lifted me just a little higher and I found myself standing on the foot of the bed. I was taller than him now, not by much, but just enough that I could hold his face in my hands and devour his mouth from above.

Grant slid his hands to my hips and down my dress covered thighs. When his rough palms found my bare calves, a jolt of eager anticipation shot through me. Sure enough, his hands smoothed up my legs, pushing my dress up along the way. I shivered when his fingers found my panties and took hold of them, pulling them down my thighs. Grabbing hold of his tee shirt, I pulled it off of him while he bent at the knee to pull my panties down my legs, and they came off at the same time his shirt did.

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