Outtake: Catch
Seducing
Jordan was an even greater challenge than Dillon originally expected. Not only
did he have to contend with her resistance of their attraction but her pet had
a veritable talent for interrupting him just when it looked like Jordan’s
defenses were weakening. In fact, Dillon had begun to anticipate a demand for
attention from Timothy whenever he came within kissing distance of the cat’s
mistress.
It was
frustrating in the extreme. Dillon wasn’t accustomed to relying on hand jobs to
bring himself relief. But when his hunt stretched late into the week, he
learned to be grateful he’d honed his ambidexterity.
He did
curse the predator in himself that refused to accept second-best. Keeping his
cool would be so much easier if he could ease his lust in other women. As it
was, he was having difficulty keeping his mind on conversation.
It was a
rare summer’s day in the middle of spring and he’d found Jordan in short shorts
and a skimpy halter-top, her cheeks flushed from some exertion. Timothy pranced
at her feet, obviously in a frisky mood.
Dillon
understood how the cat felt. Walking with Jordan to the living room, he found
himself wondering how she’d react if he licked the sweat off her smooth
shoulder, followed its trail down her back, along the hollow of her spine to
the rise of her rounded ass barely covered by soft, touchable cotton knit.
It was
something of a miracle that he managed a coherent answer when she waved a sheet
with thumbnail images of her artwork at him and asked for an opinion.
Sliding
along the couch, Dillon moved closer to Jordan, stretching his arm out along
its back. No contact, not quite an embrace, but on some level she would sense
him — another step to accustom her to his proximity. Maybe this time, he’d get
lucky.
Something
shot through the air toward him. “Whoa!” He snatched it automatically, plucking
it in mid-flight before it could hit him in the chest. A plush toy mouse,
rather the worse for wear, stared up from his fist, a look mirrored expectantly
by its launcher.
“What?”
Jordan frowned quizzically.
“I’ve
just been assaulted with a mouse,” Dillon said lightly, brandishing the toy in
explanation before he remembered her blindness.
She
smiled at him. “He just wants a game of catch.”
“Catch?”
Hunkering
down, Timothy chirped at Dillon, his haunches wiggling in apparent excitement,
his blue gaze locked on the toy. Clearly, the cat recognized the word.
With a
shrug, Dillon gave the mouse an underhand toss, entertained by the novelty of
the game despite another of the cat’s untimely interruptions.
Growling
softly, Timothy sprinted after the airborne toy, then lunged, snagging it
between his forepaws. He trotted back with the mouse between its jaws, stopped
a few feet away and dropped the toy to the carpet. With a calculating glance at
Dillon, he returned the mouse with a swipe of his paw, much like a hockey
player propelling a puck.
Dillon
burst out laughing even before he caught the toy. “You take turns?”
Jordan
rolled her eyes in droll amusement. “Oh, no. He knows I can’t catch.”
Oh, right. She’s blind. Sometimes she seemed so normal,
he forgot her handicap.
The cat
prompted him with a chirp, hunkering down again, his hindquarters and plumy
tail swaying in anticipation.
Was
Timothy doing it deliberately to keep Dillon away from his mistress? There
could be a way to turn the game to his advantage.
“He’s
really good. Here.” Dillon slid along the cushions until their thighs were
flush. Slinging his arm across Jordan’s back, he flung the mouse down the room.
As the cat streaked after the toy, Dillon cupped Jordan’s near hand in his.
When
Timothy noticed Dillon’s shift, he paused, toy mouse in mouth, to study the new
seating arrangement. Dillon could practically see the cat considering and
discarding possible moves. Finally, Jordan’s pet seemed to shrug and padded
toward them, keeping his eyes on Dillon.
Target lock, Dillon figured whimsically. “Here
he comes,” he warned Jordan.
Releasing
the mouse, Timothy gave Dillon a feline grin, showing his fangs, then batted
the toy to the side, away from Jordan.
Even better. Leading with their joined hands,
Dillon dove along the couch, twisting their bodies with an arm around Jordan’s
waist. When the plush missile hit her palm, he quickly closed their hands
around it.
Jordan
collapsed against his chest, laughing delightedly as she curled up in his lap.
Gratified
by the success of his gambit, Dillon smirked at the large cat. He almost
laughed at himself, at the exultation he felt at so minor an intimacy. To think
he’d stoop so low!
Timothy turned away to groom his fur, obviously
feigning disinterest. Not satisfied with that, he cocked up his leg to lick his
crotch, washing himself assiduously. Then he stopped, his ears pricking at a
distant noise — gravel crunching in the driveway. An eager purr rumbling in his
throat, Jordan’s pet egressed in a black-and-white blur, leaving his mistress
alone with Dillon.
