by Piper Rayne
Our eyes meet and the smirk on his lips says he’s never going to let me live this down.
Chapter Eighteen
“If she doesn’t want to join, I don’t think we should force her,” Dean says. The entire room stares at him like he’s an asshole.
“Don’t be silly.” The woman seated beside me shoots him a mean look and then directs her attention back to me. “I’m Pam and just stay and listen.”
“I can’t.” I rush to my feet. “I’m very sorry. It was by accident that I ended up here and I shouldn’t hear the things that are talked about here.”
Pam’s head rears back.
“What do you think this is?” Dean asks, the smile unable to stop playing on his lips. “We could be a swinging group looking for new members.”
I narrow my eyes at him and then look at the instructor.
“This is Alcohol Anonymous?” He nods.
“I’m not an alcoholic.”
The instructor stands. “Can I ask why you’re here then?”
My eyes flick to Dean, the instructor follows my gaze.
“You know Dean?”
“She’s my ex-wife.” For some reason, hearing Dean call me his ex out loud hurts. We’ve come so far from that word, but how can I be mad? It’s the truth.
All their shoulders fall and their eyes swim with apology.
No. Nope. Not doing this.
How much has he told them about me? About us?
“I’m very sorry for intruding,” I say and rush out before anyone can put their arm around me or try to comfort me.
Dean follows me, which I expected I suppose.
“Chels,” he calls out to the empty hall.
“I’m so sorry, I went to your building to surprise you for lunch and then I was trying to catch up to you and followed you here.”
“Why did you follow me? Because you didn’t trust me?” He pushes his hands into his pockets.
“I yelled to get your attention but there was so much noise on the street and then I texted you and you never answered.”
He pulls out his phone and nods. “I silence it when I come here.”
“Oh.”
There’s an awkward silence between us for a few seconds before he speaks. “I’ve been sober three years now.”
“That’s great.” I hope he can hear the sincerity, and if I’m honest—relief, in my voice.
He nods slowly, his head moving up and down, his eyes on me the entire time. “Do you want to stay?” The cocky twinkle that’s always in his eye is replaced with a timidness I’ve rarely seen.
“No, I shouldn’t hear their stories and private thoughts.”
“They don’t care and plus, I’m talking today, and I want you to hear it. I think it will help us move forward.”
“I can’t, Dean.” Panic wells up inside my chest until I feel like I can’t breathe.
He’s already shaking his head. “Don’t worry, I promise it will be fine.”
Both his hands slide down my arms and he links our fingers, pulling me away from the wall. “I want you to see this part of me.”
He leads me down the hall, both of our dress shoes clicking on the linoleum floor. When we enter, the instructor eyes the two empty chairs.
We sit in them and I feel all the eyes on me. I’m not one of them…in fact, I left one of them while he was in the deep throws of addiction. They can’t see me as a good person.
“This is Chelsea,” Dean says.
Everyone says hello.
“It’s been almost three years sober for me.”
Everyone claps, including me.
“It took me forever to seek the help I needed. Chelsea and I divorced five years ago and as much as I hate to admit it, our marriage was probably my idea when I was half blasted. We were in Vegas on a trip with some teammates of mine and we tied the knot on impulse. Chelsea was only eighteen and I was twenty-one.”
I knot my fingers together in my lap. It all sounds so stupid when you tell other people. At the time I’d thought it was romantic. No wonder my family looks at me like I’m a complete moron.
“I used to play baseball…slated for the big leagues. But I was also drinking too much, and I had a temper. After some guy hit on my wife, I got into a bar fight and messed up my shoulder.” He glances my way. This was the start of our demise. “If I hadn’t been drinking that night the fight might not have even happened. Who knows. After baseball was ripped away from me, the drinking only grew worse. I’d be out half the night, roll in long after Chelsea was in bed. I never called to let her know where I was or who I was with. At first, Chelsea tried to keep up, but when she wouldn’t join me, I’d tell her she wasn’t any fun to be around. I’d say she was wasting all her good years.”
I’m staring at my hands in my lap and I don’t have the heart to look up, to see all the faces looking at me with what’s probably pity. I’m sure our story isn’t foreign to them but rehashing our sordid love affair reminds me how stupid I was.
“I stopped communicating with her. If she ever called me out on my bullshit I’d resort to fighting with her as a way to keep from discussing what was really the problem—me. I treated her badly over and over again. In the end it probably felt like she was married to a stranger.” He heaves out a deep sigh. “Just so we’re not here all night, I’ll condense it.”
Thank God. There’s only so much I can handle.
“She did the right thing and stopped enabling me, eventually leaving me one night.” I look up to find him looking at me. “Morning probably.”
I nod more to myself than him.
“It took me two years of just barely getting by to seek help and three years clean before I could actually face her.” His hand seeks mine out, entwining our fingers, gripping tight. “We’re trying to move forward, start something new, something better.”
Tears prick the corners of my eyes and I attempt to slow my beating heart. There he is, my Dean Bennett, the side of him no one else saw in college. The side of him I denied existed after we parted—as if the kind, honest side of him was a mirage and had never really been there.
“That’s great, Dean. Congratulations on three years sober and remember, it’s just one day at a time,” the leader says. “Chelsea, you’re welcome anytime you’d like to join us, but maybe you’d like Al-Anon, it’s a program for families of addicts. It might help you to forgive and move on—with or without Dean.”
The word forgive lodges in my throat like a thick piece of steak I forgot to chew.
We stay for the rest of the meeting and people don’t seem to mind me listening to their stories. All of them different than Dean’s but similar at the same time. They’ve all hurt loved ones, and some don’t know how to mend those relationships. Dean offers advice to one, telling him that all he can do is try. They discuss the twelve steps and how you can’t make anyone forgive you. They’re allowed to have their feelings.
As I sit in a plastic chair with the smell of stale coffee around me, it’s as though someone finally gave me the pen to connect all the dots. For the first time, my heart does believe he’s changed.
By the end of the meeting, I only want to be alone with Dean, my arms wrapped tightly around him, not letting him get away from me again. This man…his strength knows no bounds.
After everyone says the Serenity Prayer and Dean and I say our goodbyes, he leads me out the door and down the stairs to the streets of Chicago which are quieter now since the lunch hour is over.
“Do you need to go back to work?” he asks.
“I think I’m going to play hooky.” Hannah will understand and there’s nothing on my to-do list that can’t wait.
His hand tightens around mine. “Lunch?”
I turn to face him, my eyes burning into his. “At your condo?”
He unhooks his hand from mine, clasping my shoulders. “Are you sure? We should talk.”
“Dean, I’m done talking. I just want to be with you.” I don’t want to discuss anything else that mi
ght ruin this moment for us. So, I wrap my arms around his stomach, my lips finding his jaw. It’s smooth today with the scruff he seems to grow out only on the weekends shaven away.
“Everything I said in there is the truth, but I didn’t say it, so you’d sleep with me.”
“Are you cockblocking yourself?” I ask, my lips continuing to dot kisses along his jaw and neck.
“I just want to make sure you’re positive.” His voice is gruffer now.
“Where’s that man from weeks ago who brazenly kissed me in his office?” I reach down and grab his ass.
“Right now, he’s rising to the occasion.”
His hard erection presses into my stomach.
“Then take me home and give us both what we’ve wanted for a while.”
He raises his hand for a cab and he grabs my free hand, pulling me toward the taxi that’s pulled up at the curb.
Sliding in, I want to make-out—grab his clothes and force my lips on his, but we’re in Chicago and that might be something for late night, not during the day when we’re in so much stop and go traffic. It wouldn’t be just the driver getting the show.
Dean’s fingers weave a pattern across my palm and I count down the blocks until we reach his condo. What seems like a lifetime later, I climb out of the taxi, my panties already wet. Not wasting any time, he pays the driver and then grabs my hand once more, pulling me through the doors.
“Hey, Clark,” he says, not waiting for him to attend to us, but pressing the button for the elevator to come.
“Good afternoon. Miss Walsh, nice to see you again.”
The doors ding open and I stumble forward from him yanking my arm, but he catches me and it’s all good.
“Bye, Clark.” I wave as the doors slowly close between us.
“I don’t care about cliché.” Dean pushes me against the wall, his hands planted firmly on either side of my head, his body way too far away. He bends down, his lips capturing mine as the elevator rises.
I half expect him to press his body to mine, let me feel how aroused he is now that we’re finally alone. Instead, he keeps his distance, only making sweet promises and kinky expectations with his lips and tongue.
The ding alerts us that we’ve hit his floor, and the doors slowly slide open, but Dean doesn’t move.
“I’m going to ask you again. Are you sure?” His dark eyes are now filled with lust.
“Take me to your condo and fuck me every which way. Is that clear enough for you?”
A smile teases his lips. “Crystal.”
His hands slide down my sides, cupping my ass and lifting me up. Our lips touch and the ease of his movements send shivers up the back of my legs now that my dress is up around my waist.
He stops, my back pressed to his door, and expertly holds me up as he fiddles in his pocket for his key and inserts it into the lock.
We tumble in, but Dean never loses his grip on me. His shoulder comes to mind, but I’m not blowing this mood with talk about the past.
He kicks off his shoes and props me up on the kitchen breakfast bar, sliding my ass so it’s hanging off the ledge. Painfully slow, his hands run along my torso, bypassing my breasts until they cradle my face.
“I can’t wait to be inside of you.”
He brings my lips to his once more, the firm and frantic nature of our kiss already making them swell. Not that I’m complaining. I always loved when Dean was unrestrained and wild. That’s when I knew how much he wanted me.
My legs tighten around his waist, but he’s busy shaking his leg behind him, so I break our kiss and look down, seeing Grover humping him.
“He has to go out,” I say, looking over Dean’s shoulder.
“He can wait.”
Grover stares up at me with pitiful eyes like he’s already crossing his legs so he doesn’t pee in his master’s house.
“Dean,” I sigh unable to enjoy the way his lips and tongue are devouring my neck.
“Chelsea, he’s fine.” His tone is impatient, and I smile knowing he’d rather his dog crap all over the house than take his hands off me.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I assure him.
“Last time we walked him you decided against sex. Forgive me for not taking my chances.”
I laugh pulling back and his head falls into my lap.
“Let the dog out and then we can get to know each other again. I should probably call my boss anyway.”
Dean groans, pulling open my legs and presses his lips to the outside of my panties.
My hands fall back on the granite counter top, my eyes drifting shut.
Grover who?
Arf.
That Grover.
As though reading my body language, Dean’s hands slip up my dress and grab each side of my panties sliding them off my body. “I’m taking these then.” He shoves them in his suit jacket pocket, stepping away with his eyes zeroed in on my pussy.
After retrieving my purse from the floor, he props it up next to me. “You are not to move.” He points at me, a stern expression on his face. “I want you spread-eagle when I return because I’m not even close to being finished tasting you.”
Without tearing his eyes from me, he grabs the leash and clasps it on Grover’s collar whose tail is happily wagging now.
“I can’t believe I have to take out the fucking dog,” he mumbles. “You better be fast.”
Before he slides out the door, he gives me one more fleeting look like he has to burn the image into his head. The door shuts and then reopens. “Oh, and no taking off any clothes. That’s my job.”
The heavy door slams shut, and I fall back to the counter blindly searching for my cell phone to tell Hannah and Victoria that I won’t be back in the office. I refrain from the details that I will, in fact, be enjoying an afternoon delight. And if I’m lucky more than one.
Chapter Nineteen
I do as Dean dictates, staying on his counter hammering out a quick text to the girls.
Me: I won’t be in for the rest of the day. Something urgent came up.
I put them on a group message. Really need to rethink that next time.
Hannah: oh lala…
Victoria: Was it the jasmine that did it?
I shake my head, but the door opens, and Dean walks in without Grover. Not saying a word, he lets the door shut, stripping from his suit jacket, letting it fall to the floor and I can’t even question what the hell is going on before his mouth is on mine.
Our lips devour one another, his tongue searching for mine, his hands planted on my cheeks. And as though no time has passed we’re back in that frantic dance we perfected years ago.
His mouth starts kissing across my cheek and he angles my head with one hand, sprinkling open mouth kisses to my heated flesh.
Again, he pulls me into him so I’m flush with his body. His hard-on hasn’t diminished.
“Dean,” I sigh, loving the feel of him all over me.
“Down the hall. The teenage girl is going to dog sit for me.” Then he’s kissing me again, his fingers finding their way to my back and unzipping my dress. “Don’t mention Grover again,” he mumbles against my skin.
He kisses all over my body like he’s in a game show and has to touch every inch of me within a certain time frame. His large hands pull down my dress from my shoulders and his lips skitter along one collarbone to the next.
I slide my hand out from my dress, left in only my red bra. He pulls back for a moment, his gaze glued to my chest. Taking the opportunity, I grab his tie and pull, unknotting it as he stares down at me.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs, his knuckles gliding along the swell of my breast. “I almost don’t want to unwrap you.”
It’s then that I witness Dean taking me in like a piece of precious art he’s waited decades to view. His tongue slides out and he licks his bottom lip.
While he admires me, I pull his shirt from his body, letting it join his jacket on the floor. I look at a man five years older, more muscled, more
defined. We’ve grown. His flat stomach now has more dark hair trickling down past his waistband, his nipples more prominent on stronger pecs. He’s turned from boy to man and I missed the transformation.
He lets me look him over the same way he does me. Finally, his hands cup my breasts right before his fingers find the clasp in between my mounds, releasing it. The fabric pulls apart, revealing me completely.
Worry flashes through my head. Have they lost the fight with gravity?
His palms cover me again, his thumbs running over my taut peaks. “Just as I remembered.”
I close my eyes as he caresses me, my core heating up more and more.
“Dean?” I break up the mood. Not that I’m not enjoying what he’s doing, but Dean doesn’t do gentle caressing.
“Uh-huh,” he murmurs, his lips touching my skin and finding their way down to my breasts.
“Don’t treat me like I’m damaged goods.” He lifts his head and stares at me like I’m a crossword clue he can’t figure out.
“What?”
“You don’t need to be gentle with me just to prove you’ve changed.”
The one side of his lips lift. He knows exactly what I’m referring to. Our sex life was never tame—it was break the table, shatter the lamp kind of sex.
“Are you asking me to fuck you, Chelsea Walsh?” A full smile creases his lips, his forefingers and thumbs now pinching my nipples harder. A moan falls from my lips.
“I’m asking you to show me exactly how much you want me.”
“Well, I do always aim to please you.” The pressure on my nipple intensifies, sending a current racing through my body. A glorious pain I’ve missed more than I’ve admitted.
“Dean,” I sigh, my head falling back to his granite countertop.
One hand covers my right breast and he squeezes and then massages it. The fine art of hard and soothing—no one knows it better than him. He bends down taking my nipple into his mouth as his arm slides under my back along the counter. In one motion, he pulls me up to him. My legs wrap around his torso so that he doesn’t have to stop tormenting me with small bites to my pebbled nipples while he carries me to the living room.