Blue-Collar Boys - Repairs & Maintenance (Book 2: Steamy Erotic Romance Stories) (7 page)

“I’ll pick you up at nine o’clock.”  Bruno didn’t wait for her protest.  Instead, he shimmed upwards into the tree, disappearing into the maze of branches, and left Lydia to sort out the pang of adrenaline that soared through her body at the thought of going out of her house, much less on a date with Bruno.

Lydia pulled her window shut, determined to seal it forever.  But it was impossible to deny the wave of courage and excitement that coursed through her heart and inflated her self-confidence like a balloon.  Suddenly, she stripped off her pajamas and stared at her naked body in her dressing mirror, searching out the part of her that she had tamed, suppressed, and repressed for so long that she barely believed it existed anymore.  Now, in the mercurial reflection of glass and light, it all seemed so clear.  Lydia did not see her pale face, boney body, and stringy bronze hair.  Instead, she only recognized her spirit.  And in this moment, it was fearless.

* * * *

Moonlight echoed through Lydia’s sheer curtains like a pale ghost, whispering her name between the silence of light and darkness and tempting her into the unknown.  There was a knock at her window.  She knew it was him. She had been waiting for him the whole day with a flutter in her heart and a constriction in her chest—an anxious swirl of nervous energy and breathless anticipation.  Lydia drew back the curtains and lifted open the window.  The cool air kissed her cheeks, and she smiled without trying.  Bruno smiled back. 

“I thought you were going to stand me up.”

Lydia shrugged. “I’m trying not to play so hard to get.” 

“Well, I can see you’re at least following directions.”

Bruno winked and nodded at her clothes.  Lydia had spent the entire afternoon, rearranging her closet, mixing and matching her wardrobe options.  As an agoraphobic who rarely left her house, her clothing options were less than scintillating.  But Bruno was right; she
did
follow instructions.  She picked her most comfortable outfit: a hooded sweat shirt and matching sweat pants, made from aqua marine velour that shimmered like a dark emerald under the lunar light.     

Bruno balanced on the tree branch; his climbing boots secured his footing with confidence.  He was wearing the same clothes he always wore, except now, his army green jump suit looked brown under the shadows and his red bandana was distorted purple by the starlight.  The harvest moon sliced through the tree’s canopy like a searchlight and cut across Bruno’s heart-shaped faced.  Without his sunglasses, his eyes twinkled at her—even in the darkness—and his smile was the same—wry, witty, inviting her to come outside and play.  He thrust up the window pane, jamming it deep into its frame.  It was as if he was rescuing her from a castle into which she had locked herself away for years and years, and no one had remembered the whereabouts of the key—not even Lydia.  It had become a prison of her own making.  But now, she was being rescued by a handsome man in the moonlight, and Lydia suddenly forgot how or why it seemed so important for her to remain trapped there. 

With the inertia of one swift motion, Bruno grabbed Lydia’s hand, and towed her out the window and onto the tree branch.  The open air consumed her and the brisk wind penetrated her velour sweats.  It nipped her knees and elbows, and made Lydia’s balance waiver.  She held onto Bruno.  He held onto her.   His confidence gave her confidence.  She steadied herself and wrapped her fingers around his strong arms for security.  She looked up into his soft eyes rather than down into the dark abyss of vertigo below them.  Nothing made Bruno falter—not the wind, nor the darkness, nor Lydia’s own missteps as he guided her along the heavy branch towards the tree’s trunk.  He balanced two steps backwards for every one step she took forwards.  Every inch felt like slow motion, a whimsical dream in which Lydia made a deliberate decision to turn away from the certainty of security and into spontaneity of the unknown. 

Bruno drew her forward and into his arms.  With giddy laughter, they both embraced the tree’s trunk.  Home base.  It was a sweet victory and they knew it.  The rough bark imprinted Lydia’s palms and her exhaling breath wafted through the cold night air.  She peered up at Bruno and he gazed back at her.   

“If you enjoyed that, Goldie, wait until we get to the actual date.” He nodded up to his harness and rigging equipment.

“You’re tying me up in that?”

“Well,” Bruno paused.  “I wasn’t going to put it that way, exactly.  But since
you
said it, not me… Yeah, that’s the plan.”

Bruno loosened the rigging lines through the binders and shimmed the harness down from the canopy of leaves.

Lydia suddenly felt a wave of panic in her chest.  It was one thing to be out on a limb—literally—with a charismatic, adventurous stranger who made her believe that every risk she took was a risk they were taking together.  But to be strapped into a harness and hoisted through the air, expected to confront and overcome her fears—alone.
That
was more than Lydia was ready for.  She resisted his touch and slunk backwards against the trunk.

“I can’t, I can’t,” she insisted, shivering with the howl of the wind.  Her lips quivered, certain Bruno would finally realize she wasn’t the girl he wanted her to be.

“Goldie,” he reassured with calm certainty. “Stop being afraid and step into this thing.”

Bruno stepped towards her with a shake of the harness.  If Lydia had a choice in the matter, she probably would have fainted or collapsed or hyperventilated.  But Bruno gave her no choice.  Before she knew it, he had cornered her against the trunk, coaxed her to lift her right foot, then her left foot into the harness.  His hands worked across her body—affixing belts and tightening straps—constricting the harness over her breasts and between her legs.  She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the claustrophobic constriction in her throat.  Instead, she concentrated on the interplay of Bruno’s certain hands, probing her shoulders and hips and initiating taunt pressure with every tug of slack.  Then, it was done.  Bruno tightened the final belt buckle and fastened on the master safety clip.  Lydia was his possession.  The only way down was going to be up.

A thick black cloud drifted over the moon.  Like an eraser over a chalkboard, everything went black.  Lydia panicked and cried out for Bruno.  He wrapped his arms around her waist and she clung onto him.  The weight of his body was strong and steady.  The firmness of his chest reassuring against her own.

“Do you trust me?” he whispered.

 “Yes.”

“Good.  Then don’t be afraid—”

Suddenly, his voice broke away as Lydia soared upward on her own.  The black trunk rushed past her senses.  The vertical velocity swooped Lydia through the tree branches towards the boundless moon and stars.  Then, the rigging lines zipped silent and Lydia halted with a jolt.  She heard herself cry out with involuntary laughter, reeling with terror and exhilaration as she swung through the saplings and leaves like a fairy in the tree tops.  She looked above her—a mosaic of black leaves against a velvet sky.  Below her—jaws of twigs and branches.  In the harmony between them, she hung suspended in the darkness.  As if dangling from the end of a tangled parachute, she was twisting weightless in the black matter of outer space.  Lydia searched the silence.  It was midnight and there was nothing but a hush in the world.  The breeze rustled the leaves like crushed newspaper and the heavy oak swayed like a creaking house.  She wanted to call out to Bruno, but she knew it would be a sign that she didn’t trust him.  And Lydia trusted him.  For the first time in years, Lydia trusted someone she barely knew because he seemed to know her better than she knew herself.

There was a shadow moving below her, a black panther sulking through the branches.  He was coming towards her, crawling up the tree—free-style.  No rigging lines.  No safety clips.  Just the simple act of navigating higher and higher through the maze like a fearless child with only the benefit of his own bare hands.  When he reached her dangling feet, he reached out, untied the laces of her tennis shoes, and slipped them off.  They dropped from her ankles like lead weights, crashing through a clamor of shattering twigs and tearing leaves.  She felt herself ascend higher, inflated like a helium balloon.  Next, Bruno peeled off her socks, tiny white slippers of cotton, accented with a pink ball at their heels.  Lydia’s bare feet absorbed the cool air and his warm hands cupped around them.

“Is it too cold?”

“No, I don’t mind.” Lydia whispered back.

His palms rubbed up and down her soles, generating heat beneath her feet.  He was a murky shadow, perched just below her, but his warm hands and nimble fingers reminded her that, in spite of the darkness, there was a physical connection fueling the way he caressed her arches and massaged her heels.  Suddenly, she felt his hot breath linger over her feet, followed by the wetness of his lips, suckling her pinky toe.  His tongue melted between it like velvet sand, and the suction of his mouth tugged like a flirtatious tease.  Lydia jerked her foot backwards and cried out with laughter, twisting her in the swing.  But Bruno steadied himself and secured her ankle, sucking her toes—harder.  Lydia had never had her toes sucked before, and only an hour ago, she was certain that she would have denied the possibility of enjoying it—until now.   The tingling sensation sent a shiver of excitement up her shin and between her inner thighs.  It was the last thing that Lydia expected—to be the object of Bruno’s spontaneous display of affection—and she wanted more…

She stared down at him.  His heart-shaped face and purple bandana were masked by shadows.  But she caught the glint in his eye.  It was that same glint that encouraged her to take a risk, encouraged her to move beyond her comfort-zone—from the safety of predictability into the chaos of the unknown.

“I want you to kiss me,” she petitioned with a hush, as if she only pronounced the words in her mind without forcing them from her lips. Her heart fluttered as she heard the request fall like a coin through the silence.

“I want you to kiss me—” she said again.  This time, she was certain—and he believed her.

She looked down at him, trying to make out the features of his face amongst the shadows, but instead, his form merged with the vertigo of darkness.  He suddenly disappeared, as if he was abandoning her.  Lydia felt her heart leap with helplessness as she twisted in her swing with a gust of wind. 

“Where?  Here?”  he suddenly asked.

Lydia felt Bruno kiss her ankle—gently, submissively, like she was a goddess.  What Lydia could no longer see, she could feel.  She felt herself nod. 

“How about here?” He pushed her sweat pants past her knees and kissed her kneecap.  She felt the pressure of his fingers encircling her calf, nestling themselves into the soft nook behind her knee—a signal for her to relax.  Scanning her bare leg in the moonlight, he admired how her creamy skin glowed against a canvas of darkness.  Then, she heard him, rising up higher through the tree branches before moving behind her. 

 “What about here—” his confident forearm suddenly encircled her.  He brushed aside Lydia’s long hair and kissed her ear lobe, drifting his lips down the nape of her neck. The weight of his chest pressed against her back and his hands fastened around her harnessed hips.

“And here?” he twisted her in her swing to face him and brushed his thumb across her lips.  His hands were raw and rough, but when he touched her, it was as if she was made of priceless porcelain. And his eyes peered at her with tenderness. 

 “Yes...”

Lydia closed her eyes, allowing him to overtake her with the same spontaneous, adventurous spirit that made her believe she could be spontaneous and adventurous, too.  His tongue rushed through her mouth—lush, penetrating strokes of foreplay that made her blush even behind the curtain of midnight.  Bruno had clearly kissed more women than Lydia had kissed men, but now, he was kissing her as if she was the only woman in the world who could satisfy him.  Lydia caved into the sensation.  She was strapped into the harness and tangled up in his arms, completely at his mercy.  He unzipped her velour sweatshirt and his heart-shaped chin dropped down her neck, sucking it deep with desire.  A groan escaped from Lydia’s lips—reassurance for him to suck her harder.  Lydia peered up into the tree’s canopy; the white moonlight glinted off the waxy surface of the black leaves.  She felt like a butterfly, caught up in a spider’s web as Bruno feasted on her desire, stimulating a wave of pleasure that tingled down her neck to a singular point in her crotch. 

His fingers crept up her thigh and stopped, just before her safety harness cut across her groin—taunt straps protecting Lydia from his advances.  But the bondage of the harness heightened her senses, making her yearn for more.  She closed her eyes and imagined Bruno slipping his fingers under the harness and outlining the crease of her panty line.  A pang of moist desire accelerated between her legs.  She shifted in her swing to release the pulsing tension building there.  But Bruno was holding her steady, waiting for her to give him permission. But he didn’t need permission.  Lydia felt like a new woman; she had already granted it.

There was a hush in the tree top, an eerie moment of stillness before everything changed.  Lydia heard the sound of jangling metal.  Bruno was loosening a buckle from around Lydia’s waist.  It was clear this buckle wasn’t for safety.  This buckle protected Lydia in a different way: it sat squarely above her belly button, constricting the strap above her hips like a chastity belt.  With one flick of his thumb, Bruno loosened the strap, releasing Lydia from all her self-imposed limitations.  There was nothing stopping him now.  There was no stopping and revising her mind a thousand times; no obsessive-compulsive review of every detail to the point of paralysis; no overwhelming sensation of embarrassment.  Lydia wanted this.  Her desire was now. 

It was a timid touch, at first—just enough to arouse her senses—as his fingers slipped down the backside of her sweat pants and swept around to the front of her cotton panties.  Lydia encouraged him with an exhale of pleasure to explore the moist center between her legs.