Sandy: Vested Interest #7

by Melanie Moreland

  She loosened the robe, and I pushed it off her shoulders, running my hands along her soft skin, feeling the tension under the skin.

  “Wow.”

  She sighed, letting her head hang down. “My shoulders have been described as cement.”

  “Well, let’s see what I can do about that.”

  I added some lotion to my hands and began to knead her tight muscles. She groaned low in her throat, but it wasn’t a groan of pain. I worked at the stiffness, massaging and stroking, feeling her beginning to relax. I talked about silly things. The couple we’d seen taking selfies along the pier. A sculpture we’d both guessed at, trying to determine exactly what it represented and being wrong. Amusing little stories about Van, the boys, funny things my kids did as they grew up. Anything to distract her as the storm outside drew closer. I wanted her to concentrate on my voice, the feel of my hands. Slowly, her muscles loosened, her shoulders sagging. I tipped up her head, stroking her neck and along the front of her chest, over her collarbone, keeping my touch light and gentle. She kept her eyes shut, a small smile on her face.

  I tried not to notice her breasts but failed. Badly. The fullness of them I could see perfectly from my vantage point. How slowly her nipples were tightening. How my groin tightened in response. With a casual sigh, she lifted her arms, draping them over my widened knees, pushing her breasts out. I drifted my hands lower, touching her. Stroking over her nipples with my thumbs as I cupped her. She whimpered, a soft small sound, opening her eyes. I met her gaze and smiled as she wrapped one arm around my neck, drawing me down to her mouth. I kissed her, upside down, leisurely, our tongues meeting and withdrawing, my hands still on her breasts.

  “Jordan,” she whispered.

  “Tell me what you want, my darling. Tell me, and it’s yours.”

  “You. I want you.”

  “Here or in the bedroom?”

  In one fluid movement, she was on her feet, her robe a discarded cloud of white at her feet.

  “Right here, in this chair.”

  My erection kicked up, straining against my zipper. Sandy watched me with hooded eyes as I smiled, leaned back, and opened my hands in invitation.

  “Take me however you want me.”

  She never broke eye contact as she tugged on my zipper and yanked off my pants. I helped her with my shirt, impatient to feel her skin against mine.

  Then she settled on my lap, straddling me. Our mouths fused together, and I held her close, feeling the delicate beauty of her back under my fingers.

  She shifted, lifting and settling herself, my cock at her entrance. We both moaned as she lowered herself, taking me inside slowly. Flush together, she gripped my shoulders, taking her hair out of her clip, shaking it loose around her shoulders. She shuddered as I thrust into her.

  “You feel so good, Jordan. So good.”

  “So do you.” I groaned as she rolled her hips. “So do you.”

  “We’re both going to feel even better,” she whispered, then began to move. She gripped the back of my neck, clutching the arm of the chair with her other hand. She undulated over me, her movements smooth and graceful. She arched her back as I nuzzled her breasts, moaned as I pulled her closer, burying my face in her neck as she rode me. I praised her, begged her, uttered a curse or two as she took control and brought me more pleasure than I thought possible. I gripped her hips as she began to cry out, thrusting into her, shouting her name, and coming hard.

  She collapsed against my chest, shuddering in the afterglow, her arms wrapped around my neck and her body fluid and warm next to mine.

  I kissed her head. “Wow, my darling. That was simply…” I trailed off, unable to find words to adequately describe what had just occurred between us.

  “That was fucking awesome,” she murmured.

  I burst out laughing. Sandy rarely swore, and I found it rather endearing when she did. And if I was being honest, a bit of a turn-on—especially given the reason for her cursing.

  I stood, taking her with me. She clung to me, smiling as I set her on her feet in the shower. “Let’s clean up and go to bed.” I kissed her lips. “We can cuddle.”

  “I like cuddling with you.”

  “Good. Me too.”

  She did hate storms. It finally started around two, the thunder beginning to rumble and lightning flashing. The rain was heavy, hitting the glass outside like small pebbles.

  Sandy had fallen asleep for a while, worn out from the day and no doubt, our rather vigorous lovemaking, but she woke at the first far-off rumble of thunder, her body tense. She nestled closer, seeking the shelter of my embrace, and I held her tight, trying to offer what security I could.

  She trembled in my arms, her face buried in my chest, small sounds of distress escaping her mouth every so often. I talked to her, smoothing my hands up and down her back in calming passes, whispering words of comfort. I had never seen her so vulnerable. Unsure how else to console her, I began to hum. I always loved to sing to my kids, and I tended to hum under my breath without realizing it. Van teased me about it all the time. When Anna was ill and unable to sleep, I would hum to her—she said she found it soothing and it helped her to rest.

  After a while, Sandy relaxed, snuggling closer, but without the tension I had felt in her before. I felt her body grow heavier with sleep and I kept going. I hummed and stroked her hair, enjoying the fact that she was relying on me and that I was helping her.

  The storm continued, but she slept, safe and peaceful in my embrace. I hummed until the storm abated, the sounds fading off, leaving only the rain.

  Knowing she was resting, I drifted off to sleep, keeping my arms around her. I wondered how to get her to agree to sleep beside me every night. I had a feeling I was going to miss the feel of her next to me once this weekend was over.

  Sandy

  I paused in front of my favorite Renoir painting again, standing across from it and staring. Something about the colors and light drew me in. Jordan was wandering in another section, but he would know where to find me.

  I smiled as I thought about him.

  Jordan.

  This weekend had been more incredible than I could have imagined. We traveled well together, at ease with each other, and both enjoying the same things. I loved walking with him, often stopping to look at something that caught my eye or popping into a store. He was endlessly patient, never rushing me. He stayed close on our explorations, holding my hand, tucking me into his side. On our Salem walking tour, he had guided me around dips in the sidewalk, low spots in the grass as we followed the group.

  The approaching storm made me jumpy, but he kept an eye on the weather and had us back at the hotel long before the storm began.

  His massage and the ardent lovemaking that ensued had been one of the most pleasurable experiences of my life. He had no problem with me taking control, his green eyes dark with desire, his warm voice encouraging me as I rode him. I loved watching him lose control. The way his head fell back, his neck muscles tightened as he groaned and murmured in pleasure. How he praised and cajoled as we made love. The way he called my name. His deep, fervent, soul-drugging kisses that thrilled me to the core.

  His understanding about my fear of storms was typical Jordan. He accepted it, didn’t make me feel silly for being frightened, and when the storm descended on us, held me close as he promised and kept me safe. When he began to hum, my entire body relaxed. He had a deep, rich tone that soothed me, and combined with his close proximity, he accomplished something which had never happened before. I fell asleep and stayed asleep as the storm raged. Without a nightmare. When I woke up, it was dawn, Jordan was still beside me, his arms a protective shield, and I was fine.

  When he woke, we made love again. Sleepy and warm, our movements were unhurried, our kisses long and gentle. He was an amazing lover—giving and patient, talented with his tongue and fingers. I had forgotten the joys of lovemaking. The passionate movements, the sensation of a strong body joined with mine, the pleasure building betwe
en us. The whispers and groans. The feel of fingers and lips skimming along my skin. The way the air around us heated, the world shrinking down to the two bodies joined in a dance as old as time.

  The massage he had booked this morning was wonderful, but the capable hands of the masseuse had nothing on Jordan’s touch.

  Jordan was skilled and passionate. He surprised me with taut muscles and incredible stamina, the way his eyes darkened as he explored my body. The low curses that fell from his lips in the height of passion, the sounds erotic and sexy. He was simply incredible.

  Movement caught my eye, and I shifted my gaze to see Jordan headed my way. Tall, handsome, and confident, he strode toward me, a smile meant only for me on his face.

  I returned his smile with my own.

  Simply incredible, and even more incredible, he was mine.

  He reached my side, sliding an arm around my waist and dropping a kiss to my head. “I knew I’d find you here.”

  “Having one last look at Landscape on the Coast near Menton.”

  He laughed low in his throat. “It’s part of the permanent collection,” he assured me. “We’ll visit again.”

  I hugged his arm. “Thank you.”

  He patted my hand affectionately. “Anytime.”

  Despite the rain, we strolled the streets, dry under a large umbrella Jordan purchased. We found a lovely little bistro and had an early dinner, then headed back to the hotel. We enjoyed each other’s quiet company while I read on my Kindle and Jordan worked on a crossword puzzle. He did them in pen, thoughtfully tapping the nib on his chin as he pondered a word. I liked watching him—the way he furrowed his brow, mouthed a word, or shook his head when he figured out a particularly difficult clue. I had asked him if he ever made a mistake. He had glanced up at me over the rim of his reading glasses, looking sensual and amused.

  “No,” was his simple answer.

  Eventually, I ended up in the massive tub, surrounded by foam and warm water. I floated, mindless and serene. Jordan strolled in, placing a glass of wine on the ledge. He turned to leave, but I grabbed his hand.

  “You could join me.” I winked. “I could wash your back.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  I nodded, lifting the loofah sponge high. My breast peeked out from the foam, and I grinned. “Oops.”

  He lifted one eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Sandy, are you seducing me?”

  I fluttered my eyelashes. “Is it working?”

  He yanked his shirt over his head. “Damn right.”

  Seconds later, he was in the tub with me, dragging me close in the warm water. He wrapped his legs around me, lifting mine over his hips and bringing me flush to him. His erection was already hard and pressed between us, and I whimpered at the feel of him. He yanked me to his chest, running his lips up my neck to my ear. “See what you do to me, my darling?” He nipped at my neck. “One glimpse of your sexy body all wet and naked, and I’m hard.” He cursed low in his throat as I rolled my hips. “Fuck, Sandy, I want you.”

  Hearing him curse, lose control of his gentlemanly, polite ways, did something to me. He grasped my neck, drawing my face to his and kissed me. Endless moments passed as we lost ourselves to the growing passion. I ached with my need for him, longing to feel him inside me. I gripped the edges of the tub, lifting myself up, then lowering down on his hardness, inch by inch. I never broke eye contact, letting him see the pleasure I felt. When we were flush, when he was buried so deep inside me it was as if we were one, I leaned close to his ear. “Take me, Jordan.”

  He grabbed my hips, setting the pace. This wasn’t the gentle lovemaking I’d experienced with him all weekend. It wasn’t me who had control this time either. This was fast, hard, and intense. He licked at my neck, sucked my breasts, and drove into me like a man possessed. I felt claimed. Sexy. Powerful.

  The water rose and fell with us, long waves of desire as Jordan grunted and moved. It splashed over the edge of the tub, hitting the floor in loud droplets. Jordan’s grip tightened, and he tugged me close, his face falling in my neck. “Now, Sandy. Please come with me.”

  I was so close, my body strung tight with desire. Jordan slipped his hand between us, touching me where I needed it, and I cried out, locking down as he joined me, his guttural moan echoing in the room. His movements quickened, and then he shouted my name.

  We stilled, my head falling to his shoulder as he gathered me close, pressing a kiss to my forehead. After a few moments, I unlocked my legs and slid back. We regarded each other with lazy smiles on our faces, both too exhausted and too sated to talk much.

  Finally, I peeked over the edge of the tub.

  “Good thing we have lots of towels.”

  Jordan handed me the glass of wine, his expression one of fond amusement. “Good thing we didn’t knock this over.”

  I sipped the cool liquid, enjoying the bite of the pinot.

  Jordan rubbed my legs. “You all right?”

  I winked at him. “Not sure I’ll be able to walk tomorrow, but I’m fine.”

  “I was a little rough. I got carried away,” he admitted.

  “I liked it.” I enjoyed being able to take control when I wanted or to release it to him. Either way, our lovemaking was spectacular. Together, we somehow meshed, sharing a passion that flamed hot and bright when we were alone.

  He sighed and moved back, leaning on the other end of the tub. Our legs pressed together, his toes idly stroking my skin. He rested his arms on the edge of the tub, the water clinging to his skin.

  “At my age, that doesn’t happen very often.”

  I lifted one shoulder. “Then I’m glad I was here when it did.”

  He bent at the waist, his expression serious. “It will only be you when it happens next time, Sandy.” He relaxed back, picking up my foot and massaging the instep. I groaned as his fingers worked, easing the tightness of the arch. He was right when he told me he gave great massages. I could get used to it very easily.

  “And the time after,” he added with a wink.

  I smiled, wiggling my toes. “You’re saying, fast or slow, I’m stuck with you?”

  He squeezed my foot. “Yes.”

  “Okay. Good to know.”

  Sandy

  It started on the plane ride home. That niggling little voice I couldn’t quite hear, whispering in my head. I had the feeling I had forgotten something—something important. Mentally, I went through the hotel suite. I had my clothes, my Kindle, and was certain I had remembered to pack all the souvenirs and mementos we had purchased, including a gorgeous shawl Jordan had insisted on buying for me at the gift shop at MFA. It was the softest cashmere, in the most vivid shades of blue and green I had ever seen. Light and warm, it was still in its wrappings, but it was the first thing I had put into my case.

  I racked my brain, then decided if it was that important, I would have Jordan contact the hotel to send on to me. Otherwise, I would replace it.

  Still, that nagging feeling wouldn’t leave. Jordan slept on the short flight, but I was unable to settle. I checked my messages and email, somehow not shocked that my work profile showed nothing pending. Emmy was efficient and no doubt kept up with everything Bentley needed. Knowing him, he put aside some things for me to deal with so she wouldn’t be overloaded. I had a feeling the two of them would have spent a great deal of time together in the day care. They were enraptured with their daughter, and Bentley was especially besotted. It was lovely to see how much he had changed. Emmy was good for him.

  It was wonderful to know all my boys were settling down, finding the right person to share their lives with. I wondered how many BAM babies would appear over the next few years—I was looking forward to being part of their futures.

  Max and I never had children. He’d had a vasectomy before he met me, and although he attempted to have it reversed, it didn’t work. We were refused adoption because of Max’s age, and the one attempt we made to adopt privately ended in disaster and disappointment, and I swore I wo
uldn’t go through that again.

  Meeting Bentley and the boys had given me the ability to love and care for someone other than Max. They eased the heartache of never being a mother—especially when Reid came along. His history and pain provoked a deep maternal response in me, and I adored him.

  They all treated me as their adoptive mother since none of them had a motherly influence in their lives. And our grandson, Colin, held a very special place in my heart. I had held him as a baby, watched him grow, and loved him as fiercely as a mother would.

  All my boys made the small part of my heart that ached for a child a little less painful. They filled a void not even Max could touch.

  I shook my head at my thoughts. I rubbed my temples as the odd sensation of something forgotten, something lost, ran down my spine.

  “Are you all right, my darling?” Jordan’s voice broke through my odd musings.

  I startled at his voice but forced a smile to my face. “Yes, of course.”

  “You’ve gone pale. Are you feeling ill?”

  “No. You checked the hotel suite before we left, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. Why? Do you think you forgot something?”

  “I have an odd feeling I did.”

  “I can ask the hotel to check if it’s important.”

  I waved it off. “It’s probably my toothbrush. I think I can get by.”

  He lifted my hand to kiss it, but for some odd reason, I resisted. He frowned but patted my hand instead, leaving his warm palm to rest on top of my hand. “We’ll figure it out.”

  I nodded in silence and turned to the window, fighting the impulse not to pull my hand away.

  What on earth was going on with me?

  With a sigh, I shut my eyes. I must be tired from the weekend.

  That had to be it.

  Jordan carried my bag up the steps, waiting as I unlocked the porch door, then the inner door. He followed me in, setting down my bag.