Chapter 10. Pledging Away The Weekend At Peter's.
Part One: The Bet.
AN: Thanks for reading.
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*B*E*L*L*A*
Waking up was proving to be very difficult.
The first time I slipped out of my Peter induced, post coital sleep, daylight threatened to wake me up. I was on my left side facing the open shutters.
I rolled over and tucked myself into Peter.
I was also in a very comfortable plush bed. Peter's leg worked itself in-between mine when I moved. One heavy arm jostled me as he wrapped underneath me. His other arm was lazily resting along my stomach and his hand in-between my breasts.
I went back to sleep.
When I woke up again, our legs were still twisted together. One of Peter's fingers was tracing circles around my left nipple.
I could feel his cold breath on the side of my neck. His nose and his lips barely touching my skin. Peter was breathing slowly, steadily.
His dick twitched against my thigh. In my stupor I began to think about it. His dick, that is. I started thinking about silly things; like no matter where he goes, his dick always gets there first. And then I thought about that movie 2010, with Roy Schneider. His dick was like a huge ass monolith that contained billions and billions of stars, and I certainly saw my share the night before.
I also thought that maybe it was my best interest to consider protective head gear, because my body felt like Jello; fresh off the burner and still liquid.
I dozed off again at some point. I just couldn't snap out of the 'I just got laid' coma.
I woke up while in the midst of turning over and stretching my legs. My whole body when into stretching mode. I must have been unconsciously reacting finally to Peter trying to coerce me awake. It was obvious he was in the mood for a little morning nookie.
My body however, was definitely not.
The pulsating pain hit almost instantly deep within in the tissues of my calf. A Charley Horse from hell hit inside my left leg and traveled down into my foot. My whole body froze up. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. I moved to grab the pillow underneath my head so I could scream into it.
Peter's arm however was the only thing within my grasp and I bit into his bicep. Well, I tried while letting out an agonizing wail.
"What the fuck!?" He was completely taken off guard, and he sounded a little pissed and alarmed at the same time.
I panted and cried out. He started to remove the leg that had only shifted a little when I had moved.
"No! Don't! Don't move! Charley Horse! Oh, fuck!"
I opened my eyes right at the precise moment Peter ripped off the covers. You could hear the whip of the fabric flying through the air. I watched him sit up awkwardly without moving his leg. The pulsing pain through my calf was making it difficult to even breathe. Was it worse than childbirth? Probably not. But it hurt.
And it was all because a few years ago, some asshole had snapped that leg. It had never been completely the same again.
"Jesus Christ, your foot looks deformed," Peter said, somewhat disgustedly.
"Don't touch it!"
"Shh, be quiet. You'll wake the dead."
"You can't sleep and don't you dare touch my leg!"
Peter sighed exasperatedly. He bent the arch of my foot, and he wiggled my big toe.
The pulsing pain alleviated immediately, and then it faded away. I moaned out in relief, but the tightness and the ache still remained.
Peter twisted his leg out of the both of mine and started rubbing and massaging my calf very carefully.
"Oh, God. Thank you. Thank you.."
Peter laughed under his breath. I took my head out of the pillow I had grasped onto and looked up at him. He was looking at my leg while he rubbed it. His hair had been brushed, the daylight highlighted the golden blond in his light brown tresses. Sunlight filtering in made his skin look more honed, more polished.
I looked out the window squinting at the bright sunlight lighting up the trees and the very blue sky.
I ran my fingertips over some of the scars on the left side of his alabaster back. They were somewhat gray, and I wondered if they would glimmer in the sunlight. There was a faint line running around his shoulder. Not very noticeable unless you looked for it, but jagged and torn.
His arm. He had lost his arm when they killed Charlotte.
Peter squeezed my calf, and I flinched. He laughed.
"Quit laughing, it hurts." I reached up, and traced part of the line with my fingers.
Peter's smile faded, only somewhat. "You could have scared the shit out of me if I were still human. For a second I thought you were having a fit because you forgot where you were."
He looked at me, another smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He grimaced all of a sudden and looked a little concerned.
"I don't mean to be rude, but you really look like shit. You look like you don't feel good."
I couldn't even begin to chastise him for his frankness, because I really did feel like shit. I threw my head into the pillow, groaning. My throat was very dry and my voice was thick with sleep. My mouth was a slight shade of nasty. I had a dull ache in my left forearm. My ribs hurt a little bit too.
Even though I had completely recovered from James' attack over four years ago, my body still reacted to anything new. And sex with Peter was completely new. And wonderful. Erotic. Mind blowing. Perfect.
In truth, making love with Peter made my body hurt in all the right places, minus the calf and the ribs.
Peter laid back down and twisted my head out of the pillow. I opened my eyes and met his gaze. Red eyes stared back at with me with love and adoration.
He leaned into kiss me.
I twisted my neck and buried my head back into the pillow. "Don't. I have morning breath."
"Bella," he said in a exasperated tone. I felt his head press into the pillow, next to mine.
I moved my head slightly to the left, and peeked out. Mr. Patient and Intent was waiting. His eyes soft.
How clearly I could see myself in them.
His face was close enough to mine that all I had to do was lift my chin a little. Peter caught my lips. He lazily deepened it while wrapping his arms around me as I shifted back onto my side. Warmth settled inside my belly. His touch still charged my skin; and my ears started to ring. I brushed the sensations off as a never ending effect he had on my body. It was the way he dazzled me.
He pulled away, smiling ever so slightly.
"Good morning," I whispered to him, while running my thumb over his nipple. My own were feeling a little sensitive along side his cold chest.
"Good Morning to you. You slept well," He mumbled out. Peter had closed his eyes. I reached up to trace the faint blue shadow underneath his right eye. If I hadn't known he was a vampire, you could have sworn I had just woke him up. He looked like a vampire who just got laid after a twenty one year old dry spell.
I felt his hard length twitch against my stomach. My mind and my body heated up and flushed just thinking about him inside me. The pulsing friction; the way he filled me. He breathed in deeply through his nose.
"I did. I have you to thank for that. Did you stay with me all night?"
"Nope. I got up earlier to go read the paper because you were driving me nuts. The fucking paper boy was late this morning, though. So I took a shower, drew for a little bit, and then I crawled back in bed to wake you up. It's about nine-thirty now."
Such a human response. Peter started running his hand through my hair and he gave me a sweet little peck.
"Why was I driving you nuts?" I asked.
Peter groaned. "Well, between that sweet spot between your legs and your snoring, I couldn't decide if I wanted to smother you with a pillow or wake you up and fuck your brains out."
"I don't snore." I pinched his nipple, as hard as I could.
"Oooh," he said as wrapped his arms around me to pull me to him. I winced. A sharp, quick pain traveled through my ribs.
Peter opened his eyes; he raised his eyebrows as he loosened his arms around me. I wanted him to hold me tight, so I squeezed my body in closer.
"Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better. Does your leg hurt that bad?"
I groaned. "No, it's my ribs. All my old war injuries seem to be flaring up. It's probably because I got jostled around at the amusement park. And had sex with you."
He gave me a questioning look. "War injuries, huh? Just what exactly did that James do to you?"
I sighed. Thinking about that time I got thrown around like a paperweight was something I didn't like to think about. I had nightmares every once in a blue moon about it. Talking about it or thinking about it just seemed to create them.
"Oh, he tossed me around a ballet studio. He couldn't dance for shit, though. He punched me in the chest, broke four of my ribs, broke my leg, and punched me in the face. It took me awhile to recover."
Peter just stared at me, his eyes hardening. "I'll bet. Did Edward kill him?"
"No. He was busy sucking out the venom after James bit me. Emmett and Jasper killed him. I didn't see it. I was unconscious."
Peter was silent for a moment. He nodded minutely. "That's good. I'm glad he was there for you."
Something in his quiet tone told me he wasn't talking about Edward. "You miss him?Don't you?"
He gave a quick nod and kissed my cheek. "Yeah. Let's talk about it later," Peter mumbled. He shifted somewhat, moving closer so he could look right into my eyes. "Let me ask you something. What's your plans for the rest of the weekend?"
I thought about that for a moment, becoming more intrigued with the idea of maybe spending some more time with Peter. I was only going to do what I normally did, which was clean, go shopping, work on my garden, and work on schoolwork. I didn't really need to go shop, and I didn't have schoolwork anymore.
"Not much. I was just going to hang around the house this weekend, clean and maybe work on my garden. Why do you ask?"
He paused, licked his lips and shrugged his massive shoulders. "I don't want to pressure you or anything, but stay here this weekend. Stay with me. I've got a couple hours worth of work to do, but there's plenty of things around here to keep you occupied. Maybe we could walk the trail later tonight or something. Or better yet, if you need to feed your habit, you can clean my house. My housekeeper got sick. This place hasn't been dusted for a few months." He started laughing. He couldn't stop.
The bastard.
"You asshole. Clean your own house." He continued to chuckle to himself and caress the length of my spine.
"Hey, I do," He said defensively, yet in a mocking way. "I dust and I mop and I run a vacuum; I just don't like to. That's woman's work," he said. The corners of his mouth twitched.
He was just trying to get a rise out of me. "You dust around everything instead of picking things up, don't you?"
"Yep," He chuckled.
"That's a goddamn sin."
"Then stay here and show me how to do it right. Stay here, Bella. Spend the weekend with me. We can stay in bed. We can watch TV. We can stay in bed. It'll be good for you. You can relax and you can stand for a little TLC. Say yes, Bella." He cooed.
I had every intention of saying yes, the idea of staying the weekend at Peter's to make love with him and maybe just partaking in some mind blowing sex was extremely enticing. Plus I could get to know more about him. Plus I could watch a little Discovery on the side. We could cuddle. We could have more sex.
And I could clean his fucking house, and go through his things. He had been through my garbage. He had been watching me. Turn about was fair play.
"But I don't have my toothbrush, or any clothes."
"You won't need them." He sighed and grimaced. He looked a little embarrassed.
"I went shopping the other day. I already bought everything you'd need in case I ever got you over here unplanned. You've got a toothbrush. You've got toothpaste. You've got a hairbrush and you've even got shampoo. Plus, I've stocked the fridge and the pantry and you can wear my clothes. It's not like anyone is gonna see you. Say yes, Bella."
He had planned to get inside my britches all along. I couldn't be mad.
He kissed me languidly, deepening it slowly. He explored my grimy ass teeth, and groaned quietly as his hand traveled down my neck, and to my chest. He palmed my right breast.
His hand continued it's route down to my belly as he kissed along my jawline. He left trails of fire laced with ice, and moved his hand down between my legs. I moaned when he hit the spot; his lips were back on mine.
Peter started working me over with his thumb when I opened my thighs for him. He broke our kiss and slowly trailed kisses down my jaw, onto my neck. He started to work into my opening with his finger; and I flinched. It was tender. I was sore. Peter stopped and pulled back. His eyebrows furrowed and he sighed.
"Damn, I am so not getting any this morning. And that is not a war wound."
I groaned exasperatedly. Aggravated because my body didn't want to cooperate with what I wanted this morning. "I'm a little tender, that's all. I still want you."
He pulled the arm I was laying on free, and propped himself up while looking at me intently. "I want you, too, but your body needs a break right now. Are you gonna stay with me? I'll take you home Monday morning. That'll give you plenty of time to clean, do what you need to do..."
I smiled at him. "Yeah, I'll stay with you. Can I take a bath in your tub?"
He nodded. "Of course. You stay here, and I'll get it ready for you. I'll cook you breakfast while you take a bath."
"You can really cook?"
He looked offended. "Yeah, I cook. I used to watch Rachel Ray. I had a crush on her. Until I heard she was just another diva who wouldn't let her audience members show more skin then she did. I'll go draw your bath and lay your stuff out."
I laughed.
Peter gave me a quick kiss before getting out of bed. I watched him as he grabbed a pair of dark red flannel pajama bottoms hanging around the bottom right post of the bed, and I watched him put them on before he walked into the bathroom.
He threw me a sly grin, knowing I was looking at him.
I wasn't just looking at him. I was admiring every part of him.
Muscles, scars, large arms, and pale skin. And Peter had the nicest ass I had ever seen. Round, firm, and perfect for just running your hands over. Long legs with thick thighs; and nice long and firm calves. As thick as he was, he still looked like he had the strong legs of a runner.
How fortunate I was to have met Peter. Peter was all man on the outside, and so very kind and gentle on the inside. The respect he showed me; the equality he treated me with even though he was much more of a superior being was something I didn't take lightly.
Sure he was a little manipulative, but he went about it smoothly. He was sweet, intelligent, considerate, attentive, and easy to talk to.
I liked the way he would look at me. I liked the way he touched me, outside and inside. He was the right blend of strength and gentleness. Peter made me feel beautiful. I felt like I was enough, for him.
I wormed my way awkwardly out of the bed. It was set up high, but I realized I liked it that way. It was easy to get out of, and I loved the bed. Intricate patterns of grooves in the headboard and in the posts looked as if they were hand carved, and each groove stood alone. The dressers and the nightstands - one on each side - all matched; and the pieces were stained a rich, warm cherry. But it wasn't lacquered. The pieces were rustic and old world.
The walls were painted a very light taupe, and the molding and trim-work painted white. The plaster look liked it had been hand troweled. The floor underneath the kaleidoscope carpet was a wide plank wood flooring, stained with a deep, rich brown.
I walked over to the wide six drawer dresser underneath the vast window, when I heard a faint tinkling sound. On top of the dresser was Peter's halo creator. A stained, glass, miniature wind chime that hung from a silver stand. There was a birdhouse surrounded by flowers with two bluebirds in flight at the top; Peter's halo created by the weight holding the clapper. It was a ring of blue, stained glass woven around silver. Air from a vent or a draft from the window was making it sway and tinkle quietly.
"You know, the public trail is up on that next ridge. Anyone walking on it can look down and see your tits through that window. Quite a few retired folks live up here, Bunny. You'll give guy a coronary."
Peter had come out of the bathroom and had walked over to a small walk in closet. He took a white shirt off a hanger just inside the door.
"Well then maybe he'll die happy."
Peter walked over to the tall dresser in the corner and took out something else. It looked like a pair of blue flannel pajama pants. I took a deep breath, trying to muster up some bravery. I walked over to him and watched his eyes look me over.
"I do. You kill me every time I look at you. Sure you don't wanna walk around the house naked?"
That was so sweet. "Nope. It's a little chilly in here."
He eyed my breasts. "I can tell. I..I turned the heat off a little early, it's supposed to warm up today."
Peter was so cute when he stammered, and he was looking at me like I was something to eat, which was one hell of a pleasant thought. The man's tongue could probably touch the bottom of his chin.
"I'm going to go take my bath."
"I'm gonna go cook your breakfast. How do you want your eggs? Over easy?" His eyes had darkened a little, and I saw him twitch in his pants. It was hard trying to keep a straight face. Peter handed me his clothes.
"That's fine."
"Okay." He walked out of the room rather quickly, shaking his head. I giggled.
"I heard that!" He yelled from somewhere inside the house. I giggled again. Goddamn, what was happening to me?
I took a look at the clothes he had given me. The white shirt was thin, made out of some sort of silk. It buttoned up and the sleeves were long. It was the shirt he was wearing the very first night I ever saw him. The pajama pants he had given me were going to be big, but I could tighten the drawstring to keep them from falling off.
Would it be so bad if they did? I didn't think so, not with the way he looked at me.
I walked into the bathroom. Last night I had seen it, but had been too tired to really appreciate it. The white porcelain toilet was immediately on the left as soon as you walked in. The floor was covered with sandstone tile, with thick neutral brown bathroom rugs in front of the shower, the tub, and the vanity. A thick, marble counter-top sat over a long vanity with plenty of drawer and cupboard space. It was brushed and stained with an antique beige, giving it a rustic look. A large, lighted and mirrored medicine cabinet hung above the sink. Rustic sconces with the sunset over the desert covered the light fixtures.
The tub was to the right of the vanity, and sat in the architectural curve of the house. A corner whirlpool sat high off the floor; which probably made it easy to slip into. The other wall was a window, and the view of the forest across the Sangre De Christo range was beautiful.
The shower was on the left, and I stepped inside the large, black glass door. It was square, an larger than my walk in closet at home. The walls and the floor was made out of honed, rainbow hued rock that looked like it came out of the belly of a mountain. There was a large seat in the corner built out of the stone. Two large shower heads set high in the wall, and controlled by the one set of chrome handles inside the shower.
It would wash your backside and your front all at the same time.
A bar of Ivory soap with a bottle of Suave For Men, sat inside the chiseled out space in the corner of the shower. The walls were still wet from Peter's shower. The faint scent of his soap and his shampoo still lingered. His towel still damp that laid across the bar inside.
I don't know why I liked that so much.
The double faucet tub was filled nearly to the brim and filled with bubbles. I turned it off. I took the opportunity to have a human moment before walking over to the tub and stepping inside. The water was hot, but perfect. I twisted the knob on for the jets. Seats were built in, and there was one on each end. The bottom curved up and I sat back along the attached bath pillow.
I wasn't just in love with him, I was in love with his bathroom.
There was a metal basket on the ledge by the window. There was a bottle of Suave Strawberry Shampoo plus a bottle of Vanilla conditioner. Inside the basket was a bottle of soap, bubble bath, and lotion, too. Along with a Venus razor.
Boy, he really did think of everything.
The bottle of soap, lotion, and bubble bath was all from Bath And Body Works. Aromatherapy, Black Currant Vanilla. The label caught my eye.
'Put love in the air. Black Currant Absolute inspires heightened sensuality. Vanilla Absolute soothes to instill feelings of comfort.'
The back of the bottle of soap said, 'Breathe deeply.'
It was Viagra for women in the form of soap, lotion, and bubble bath. What Peter didn't know was I didn't need any help, but it smelled wonderful. I would stop at the mall this week and pick them all up. It was so evident that he chose with care and to his liking.
I sat back, and just took all of it in, and tried not to think about how fast it was all moving.
While breathing deeply.
After a nice, long soak, I made quick work out of washing my hair with the glass pitcher sitting on the ledge. I shaved my legs and underarms; even one day's worth of growth was not aloud in my new found relationship with Peter.
He had laid out a lighter blue towel for me, and I hung it up on the free bar standing by the vanity, after I dried off.
When I looked in the mirror, I groaned. On the right side of my neck was a hickey the size of a kiwi fruit. It was blue and purple. When I leaned up close to the mirror, I could see tiny spots where the blood was right at the surface. It couldn't be covered even with my best concealer.
I was marked. I could easily say I tripped and fell into a doorknob. Or, I could say a vampire tried to suck the blood out of my neck without biting me.
The truth always worked.
On the counter-top was a brand new toothbrush with a tube of Crest. There was also a wide-toothed comb and a wire brush along with a hairdryer. On the ride side of the vanity was a deep drawer that was slightly ajar. I pulled it open. Inside was the rest of the pack of Venus razors in a metal caddy, another hairbrush—this one was round, along with a package of stretchable cloth ponytail holders.
The same ones I used.
On the side of the sink, was a cobalt blue toothbrush holder and a small bathroom tumbler that matched. I brushed my teeth vigorously while combing my hair. I blew it dry and proceeded to put my stuff back in 'my' drawer.
I had a drawer. I shouldn't have liked that, as much as I did.
I only used the lotion on my legs. Too much was overpowering, and the stuff had a kick to it. When I walked out of the bathroom, I noticed the chest sitting at the bottom of the bed.
It was the only piece in the room that did not match the others. It was about five feet in length, and made out of Ponderosa Pine. The round bulbous top was intricately carved.
I stepped over for a closer look.
The scene carved into the top was a pond, surrounded by willows. Water grass shot up in sporadic intervals inside the pond. Rocks and long grass made up the shoreline. In the middle of the pond was a small ducking with it's wings spread out and back, the neck of the ducking hung low with it's head.
He was bowing, to the swan in front of him. Four times as big as the duckling, the swan looked at the duck, appraising him by the way it's head and neck gracefully arched down. The scene was painted and stained, giving it some color but not enough to take away the intricacy of the carving or taking away from the natural beautiful lineage of the wood.
It was beautiful. It was almost like the scene from the story, but a swan never took stock of the duckling. I tried to lift the lid to see what it held - thinking bed linens or personal mementos - but it was locked. The keyhole was in the middle of a carved heart on the front of the chest, it sat in the middle of a border of swans that wrapped around the chest.
I got dressed. The silk white shirt left little to the imagination, it was very thin and I wanna bet he chose it for that purpose. I rolled up the sleeves, and left the top three buttons undone. The pajama pants were huge and long, but I tightened the drawstring, folded over the waist, and rolled up the legs. The legs still dragged along the floor but at least I could see my feet. I followed the scent of bacon and hash browns out the door.
The hallway was small, wide, and it curved from the left to the right. Peter's room was on the end of the house. There was another bedroom half way down the hall on the right. There was a queen size bed but the room was not used. It was decorated sparsely but the tops of the dressers were bare.
The ceiling of the hallway was covered with vigas and latillas, the walls another shade of taupe. They were trimmed with natural wood molding that matched the light oak of the vigas; and they held a couple pieces of southwestern art. Nothing priceless, they were just normal pieces you could find down at the plaza or along the tourist market along the border. The floor was sienna and adobe brown concrete, making it look like marble, but it was not slick.
I could smell and hear the bacon and potatoes frying in the skillet before I even stepped out of the hallway. The kitchen was large and in the shape of a upside down and backwards L. There was a D-shaped kitchen island that served as the eating area, and the living room beyond that. The space was unreal.
It was completely open, and probably twice as big as my entire house. The ceiling was the same as the hallway, vaulted and adorned with large oak beams, vigas and latillas. Peter was at the stove, his back towards me. He was stirring hash browns in a skillet. He hadn't put a shirt on, and his pajama pants were loose around his own hips.
I stepped into the kitchen, which of course was beautiful. The stove was encased inside a stone hearth with two silver metal shelves inside filled with pots, skillets, and a Talavera pot full of utensils. It had a red punched metal splash back. The fan and lighting was somewhere hidden behind the stone wall above the stove. The cabinets were stained and varnished a natural oak, and the doors were covered with carved blooming hollyhocks. The floor in the kitchen was wide plank wood flooring.
"You smell good," Peter said quietly.
I walked into the kitchen and up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. I laid my head against his back and pressed into him. "Thank you. I'm in love with your bathroom. And I think your kitchen, too. You built this?"
Peter chuckled. "I knew you would like it." He put down his spatula and turned around in my arms.
"You look better, too. How do you feel?" He kissed my forehead lightly, lingering while running his fingers through my hair.
"Much better. My calf's a little tight, but it'll work itself out. I like the shirt." I gave him the evil eye. He leaned back and I pinched the thin my fabric on my chest.
Peter leaned further back and his eyes widened. His face was covered in a mischievous grin, and his eyes were on my tits. "I like it too, it looks so much better on you."
"I remember it, you know. That's how I knew what you were that first night I saw you. Your skin reacts badly in black light."
"Yeah, well you're so white, I thought for just a moment that you were a vampire, until I saw your eyes and I smelled you. I'd been watching you for about a half hour before you finally looked at me. Of course, your ran away like a chicken shit. Your shoe...You..." Peter started to laugh.
"Shut up." I stood up on my tip toes and kissed him.
When I pulled away, he had quit laughing. He had a bittersweet smile on his face. "I followed you home with Debbie. I listened to what you said to her, and I listened to you cry while you locked your doors and checked your windows. For a moment, I thought I'd put your mind at ease and come talk to you, but I knew that would make things worse. Now you're in my house.." He didn't finish; and his eyes were soft.
I remember it all. I was happy though that he didn't find my attempt to keep him out funny. At the time, it really wasn't.
We stood there and stared at each other for a moment, before Peter jumped and turned back to the stove.
"You're gonna make me burn your breakfast."
I peaked around him. "What are you..Ohh," I breathed out. Peter was cooking me a skillet. A skillet breakfast with square hash browns, chopped up bacon, red and green peppers, onions, and fresh mushrooms. He had a little skillet setting behind the larger skillet with my eggs already cracked and ready to cook, along with a paper plate sitting on the side with cheese.
"Peter.." He was stirring up the potatoes, and all the goodies within.
"You're hungry, right?"
"I'm starving."
He put down the spatula on a spoon rest, turned and walked over to a cupboard by the sink. "I made you coffee. There's creamer in the fridge, sugar's next to the coffee and the spoons are in the first drawer underneath the pot." He handed me a mug.
"Can I do anything?" Peter was back at the stove, turning the burner on low.
"Yeah, you can get the hell out of my kitchen. Have a look around. Mi casa es su casa, so make yourself at home. And feel free to clean at your leisure. I had to clean the kitchen, the dust was thick." He had added the last part about cleaning his kitchen, lowly.
I laughed him off and made my coffee. He was right, though. He had wiped the counters down; but I caught a layer of dust underneath the coffee pot. I looked at the different Talavera pottery sitting on top of the cupboards, along with various pieces of blue and clear bubble glass. There were two, high, oak chairs sitting on the other side of the kitchen island.
I walked around to the other side. The space was completely open between the kitchen area and the living room. There was a unique structural curve built into everything; even the floor. The living room was one step down off the curve from the kitchen; where once again, the floor turned into honed concrete. The northeast wall was almost completely made of glass. You could see across the Ponderosa and Pinion forest into Santa Fe; and the Jimez Mountains were in the distance. The sky was blue and the only clouds in the sky were high. They looked like feathers.
The patio was expansive; and covered with a rich brown, high polished concrete. There was a neutral brown, deep cushioned wooden patio set underneath the beamed and viga ceiling. Off to the right was an oval hot tub. You could watch the sunset over the Jimez from the hot tub. I've seen them enough from my own home to know it would be even more breathtaking from up here.
Off center in the living room, stood an intricate stone kiva fireplace. It was large and in the front of the fireplace was a thick dark red and brown rug, adorned with vast amounts of huge red and dark orange pillows. The living area set adjacent to that. What was probably a sixty inch flat screen hung from the stone wall above the fireplace. There was a large, deep red sectional with large billowy cushions and a chaise at one end. A dark brown leather recliner sat beside the sectional.
It was the chair he sat in to watch TV. It looked a little more than worn. The bottom cushion was a little sunken in.
There was dark cherry end tables and a large round coffee table with a glass center. The shaded lamps on the end tables were made of rustic wrought iron. The entry way lay on the opposite wall of the window wall, two curved openings led into a small foyer with large oak double doors. You had to step up inside the foyer. The floor was concrete, and the foyer had a couple of equipal chairs made out of pigskin. A small table held a cordless phone, and a clear bubble glass bowl where Peter stuck his keys. There was a heated mat that held a couple pairs of hiking boots, and the shoes Peter and I wore last night.
The far east side of the living room was wonderful, and a little overwhelming at the same time. There were a couple wide doors that I didn't bother to look in, but the far wall had large, dark cherry bookcases. Hundreds of books filled the shelves. Classics, very few modern romances, fiction, and non fiction. Bibliographies and journals. U.S. History, and several books on the Civil War. From Pride and Prejudice to Catcher In the Rye. From Stephen King to John Sanford, Tami Hoag, and Patricia Cornwell. And finally, Hans Christian Anderson. Peter must have owned every book that owned the story.
Close to the corner of the window wall, was what could only be described as Peter's office. Two large drafting tables that angled were set up. There was skylights above the makeshift library and above his work area. The shelves underneath his drafting tables were just covered in..crap. What looked like manuals, boxes of rolled up blueprints, drawings, piles of sketch paper, and all sorts of drafting tools.
There was some type of machine that looked like a long and large printer pushed up against a portion of the wall. Rulers, straight edges, cups of pens, pencils and chalk covered the drafting tables. There was even a utility cart filled to the brim with things I've never seen before. In between the drafting tables on another flat utility table was two, flat screen monitors for Peter's computer. One singular high back swivel chair stood between the two tables. By the window wall, was three aluminum easels set up with large colored sketches with what looked like rooms inside a large cabin.
It was a cluster fuck of an office, and in great need of a thorough cleaning. Even though he took the color brown to the extreme, the house didn't scream with masculinity. There was enough use of color to balance it out.
"Bella, come eat."
It took me a good ten seconds to walk back to the kitchen area. The house, as large as it was though, felt comfortable. It wasn't immaculate, and it would really be a bitch to clean, but it felt strong. It felt like a home.
Peter had my plate waiting, and he had even put the eggs on top off my potatoes. He was in the double door chrome fridge pouring a glass of orange juice. I sat down in front of my plate as he put my glass down.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Peter took my coffee cup, got inside the fridge, and took out a new bottle of ketchup and Tabasco sauce. He set them down in front of me. He proceeded to fill up my coffee, add a little cream, and a spoonful of sugar.
He had to have been peaking in some windows. I remained silent as I fixed up my plate and Peter buttered the toast that popped up.
Peter sat down on my left with the Santa Fe Reporter in hand. He gave me the metro and lifestyle pages and kept the front and sports pages for himself. I broke my yolks over the potatoes, shifted my eggs to one side of the plate, and poured some more Tabasco sauce over my cheesy hash browns.
I tried to eat slow when all I wanted to do was just shove it all in. I was starving.
It was comfortably silent for a few minutes as he read the first three pages of the front page and I read about another stabbing five blocks from the club.
"Chrysler finally filed for bankruptcy," Peter said out of the blue.
"Saw that happening when the government stepped in. I heard yesterday GM's going to drop some twenty three thousand jobs by this time next year. What else is new in the world?" I asked. I took another bite of toast.
"Not much. Flooding in the north. Palin's daughter broke up with her baby daddy. Swine flu claimed its first U.S victim, and you probably have the most stablest job out there right now. By the end of a weak trading day, layoffs and no sales in the real estate market, everyone could use a stiff drink. But hey, the Kentucky Derby's on at five today." He said in a positive way.
He was looking at the sport's page. The list of horses running in the race. Next to that was their strength, the weaknesses, and the odds.
"I know. I just scanned an article about one of the horses running. I'll go with the long shot. What's his name?"
"There's six with fifty to one odds. You want pick out the one who has the prettiest jersey?" He asked sarcastically.
"Screw you..." I glowered at him.
"You already did," he chuckled out quietly. He was quiet for a moment while he gave me a daring look. "Wanna make a bet?"
I finished chewing while we stared each other down. "What kind of bet? Money?"
He thought about it for a moment. "Nope, better than money. And were not picking winners here. Long shots. Whosoever choice places closer to first, wins. If the horse scratches, the bet's off. Odds have to be thirty to one and above. I'll let you pick first."
"What are we betting?"
He had an evil grin on his face, and a glint in his eye. He swiveled in his chair to face me, while grabbing mine to turn it to face him. He leaned in close; really close, to where our noses were just brushing.
"Okay, pretty lady," He said lowly, deeply. I swallowed hard. "If I win, you have to stay the next weekend you're off with me. And you have to clean my house."
The cool breath from his mouth washed over me; turning me putty. The heat in my lower belly ignited.
Then I thought about what he said.
"You, shit. You're actually serious about me cleaning your house, aren't you?"
He smiled and laughed quietly. "Yes. And there's another stipulation. You have to stay with me, and clean the house..naked. Plus..."
"Plus what?"
He smiled big. "I get a blow job."
I couldn't help it, I broke out in laughter. The hope and the mischief in his eyes was actually rather endearing. Peter was laughing because I was, but he was completely serious. I straightened myself out and tried to steel my face.
"Okay. But if I win, you have to stay with me, and clean my house naked. And you have to do it at human speed, no flitting or running allowed. Plus, you have to pick everything up when you dust. Oh, and I need an oil change. But I'll buy the filter and the oil. And there's a board in the hallway that needs fixed. And you have to rub my feet every night after I get off work."
He was quiet for a moment, while he stared into my eyes. "That's not really a winner's reward. I'd do those things, anyway. Except for the cleaning part. How many nights?"
I smiled at him, thinking that when it was time to head back to work, I'd end up missing him, a lot. "Three. I go back to work Monday for my long week, so my next weekend off."
He grinned. "Deal. Should we shake on it?" He pulled back, and held out his hand. I took it and shook it.
"It's a bet. But I'd have given you a blow job without it."
The grin fell. "Well you still can if you..."
"Oh no, smart ass. A bet's a bet. Now you can just think about what could have been." I smiled triumphantly.
Peter gave me the sports page and showed me where to find the stats and the horses I could pick from. There was a small analysis for each horse, and I studied them thoroughly. It was the only thing I could understand. We read together in silence while I finished my breakfast. Peter wasn't looking at the Metro page that had the article about the horse that lived and trained in New Mexico. The horse was a long shot with fifty to one odds in the derby. The article in the metro, however, said the horse ran well in wet and muddy conditions. His name was Mine That Bird, and he was in the eighth spot. The article in the sports page said the track would be sloppy.
"Does it matter where the horse is when it runs out of the gate?" I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. "It could. The horses closer to the rail get the quickest spot along the rail, as long as they come out of the gate good. The further they're out, the more distance they have to run. Some horses do well on the outside, though. You got a choice yet?"
I ate all of my breakfast and I finished off my orange juice. "Yep. I want Mine That Bird. He's number eight."
Peter was trying not to grin. "Why did you pick him?" He asked.
"Well, he's closer to the gate in the number eight spot. Plus the tracks supposed to be sloppy today, and the article in the metro said he runs well in wet and muddy conditions."
Peter grabbed the metro and read through it quickly. He wasn't smiling. "Yeah, but he's only run two races this year, and his record from last year was sporadic. He only had one first place finish, and that was in '08. Why not pick a horse with thirty to one odds? None of them will fucking win but a couple are promising to finish decently. They've got a more stable track record."
I stood up picking up my dishes. I walk around the island to the sink. I didn't really pay attention to the stats in past races, and I completely forgot about the horses with thirty to one odds. I wasn't about to change my mind. I wanted to play fair. Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed like he wanted me to win.
"I'll stick with Mine That Bird." I ran the dishwater. "And a bet's a bet. You shouldn't be trying to help me. My house might not be as big, but it's still a bitch to clean."
Peter reached into the cupboard underneath the sink and pulled out a dish drainer.
When he looked at me, he was completely serious and displaying a little attitude. "Oh, I'm not helping you. I really want your lips around my dick. I'm just surprised you didn't go with the sure thing. West side Bernie has thirty to one odds and is on the rail in the number one spot. Plus in his trial run, he placed third out of forty six."
I had completely missed that. I didn't know shit about horse racing, but it was obvious Peter did.
"You take him, then." I mumbled out.
Peter fell silent and stilled. I looked up at him. He had a daring look on his face. "I am, and I'm going to win. Frankly, you'll need a miracle to win this bet." He pulled the faucet over to his side of the sink and ran the rinse water.
I scrubbed at the plate ferociously.
"Bite me." I mumbled out. Stupid, beautiful, kielbasa dick vampire.
Peter didn't still again, but I felt him brush the hair back on my left side. When I looked up he was already leaning in to my neck, and I froze. So did he. He was looking at me very intently; and his eyes darkened. He moved in even slower, until his nose hit my jaw line. Peter's tongue came out, and licked the skin from my jaw to my neck.
It was quick, but I was suddenly in his arm, and dangling off the floor. His left hand pulled my head back firmly by my hair. He was at my neck, licking the skin along my jugular, and he was growling.
"What are you doing?"
He jerked me quiet, and growled out short. It didn't hurt, but his arm was tight around me. I couldn't move.
I couldn't breathe at all. I felt fear for the first time when I felt his teeth very lightly skimming the surface of my neck, until he came to the base. To my pulse point.
Peter froze. His mouth was open, and I could feel his cold breath along my neck.
I started to pant.
He laid a light kiss on my neck.
"Gotcha."
