“I mean, it’s a fun sport to watch.”
Charlee leans over and pats my cheek. “Sweetie, you love baseball. Baseball,” she says more menacing.
And oddly, it works. “Oh yeah, I meant baseball.”
Both women smile at me with contentment.
Oh man, I’m totally fucked.
* * *
Grandma paces back and forth in front of me while Charlee sits to the side. She was just bombarded with questions about her intentions with me, which she answered perfectly and honestly. I believe she was speaking from the heart while answering every single one of them, and fuck, that was good to hear. She wants this. She wants me.
I’ve made it through ten tough questions ranging from spending time at work compared to spending time with her, and the relationship my parents share. I think I’ve nailed every question up to this point.
“As you know, my dear girl was left at the altar.” Charlee shifts uncomfortably in her chair. “I want to know if you have any intentions of doing the same thing to her.”
“Never,” I say, not even having to give the answer thought. Looking at Charlee, I say, “The man who left her at the altar did me a great favor, by giving me the opportunity to get lost in this girl myself. And now that I’m lost, there’s no way I could find my way out, even if I wanted to.” I smile. “She’s stuck with me.”
“Oh dear,” Grandma says, holding the spoon to her chest. “That was, well . . . that was just a lovely answer. Makes this old lady’s heart tick harder in a good way.”
Satisfied—finally—she puts her spoon to rest and says, “I think my work here is done. You two are ready to walk down the aisle.”
“You really think so, Grandma?”
She nods. “Yes. You are compatible on many levels. There’s a layer of respect for each other I’m not sure I’ve ever seen in a couple, even your mom and dad, Charlee. Makes me wonder if co-workers to lovers is the way to go when meeting the person you’re meant to be with.”
Taking Charlee’s hand in mine, I say, “Well, it’s certainly a high level of respect I have for her.”
Looking sly, she says, “Is it because I came back to work despite you firing me after the first hour of working for you?”
What the . . .
I hop out of my chair faster than expected as I point at her ridiculously. “I fucking knew it. I fucking knew I fired you.” I chuckle and shake my head at her, pulling on the short strands of my hair. “Holy fuck, babe, you have some balls.”
“I prefer to be known to have massive ovaries, not balls, thank you.”
Grandma stares at us, confused. “You fired my angel on the first day?”
“Oh, he did.” Charlee looks so mischievous right now . . . sinister and happy. “I think I came on a little too strong for him, he regretted his decision to hire me, and told me to leave. I knew what he meant but, he never actually said I was fired. Well, you can only imagine what that did to me.”
“Oh dear.” Grandma laughs. “You don’t ever fire my girl on the first day; that’s just asking for trouble. She’ll wheedle herself into your life before you even know what’s happening.”
“So I’ve noticed.” Hands on hips now, head bent in disbelief. “Did you know I thought I was going crazy?”
Charlee lets out a loud laugh and nods. “Oh my God, your confused look was everything. I wish I took a video of that morning when you came waltzing off the elevator only to run into me. But hey, it all worked out, didn’t it?”
I walk over to her, tip her chin up, and say, “If I were a smarter man, I would fire you right here and now for such disobedience, but I don’t have it in me.”
“She’s weakened you.” Grandma nods. “Happens to the best of us.”
With that beautiful smile spread across her face, Charlee says, “I dare you to fire me.”
I shake my head and press a very light kiss to her lips. “Not going to happen.”
“Oh, you two are so sweet together,” Grandma says and takes a seat in the living room. We follow her and when Charlee tries to sit on the other end of the couch, I pull her in by the hand and force her to sit next to me. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and hold her tight. One thing I’ve realized tonight is that I’m fucking glad we didn’t have to fake anything for Charlee’s grandma. I hate lying, any falsehoods, and to have had to pretend in front of this lady would have pained me. It’s not how my parents raised me. It’s not the man I am. Now that I know her peace of mind is real, I need to try and achieve that for my girl. Addressing Grandma, I ask, “How are you feeling these days? Any news we’re unaware of?”
The smile on Grandma’s face fades as she looks toward the window, her hands tying in knots in her lap.
Charlee tenses next to me and I hope I didn’t overstep my boundary, but thankfully she doesn’t pull away. She snuggles in closer while her gaze is fixed on her grandma.
Finally, Grandma says, “Nothing new to report. But hopefully we’re getting to the bottom of things soon.”
So evasive. I can understand how frustrating it must be for Charlee and her family to not know anything, because frankly, I’m irritated not knowing.
“Well, if you need any specialist or anything like that, please let me know. I have a lot of contacts in this city and can pull strings if you need them.” Charlee nuzzles into me more. Little does she know, I’d pull any string to make sure Charlee stays happy.
“That’s very kind of you, Rath. I’ll let you know if it comes to that.”
Wanting to push her a little, just for Charlee’s benefit, I ask, “Does the doctor still believe it’s serious?”
Grandma finally looks in our direction and, on a sigh, she smiles and says, “How about we talk about the wedding plans? That sounds more fun than talking about an old lady’s health.”
“We’re just concerned,” Charlee says.
We.
Charlee said we. The term is unexpected and yet it makes me feel included, like I’m not just hanging out with these two while they have their family connection, but actually a part of something.
“I know, Chuckie, and I said to let me handle it. I don’t need you worrying about me, not when I have everything under control. Now tell me about the plans. It’s only five weeks away, right?”
I nod while Charlee is a little more resigned, most likely upset from not being able to understand her grandma’s declining health. If I were Charlee, I’d demand to be at those doctors’ appointments so I could find out exactly what’s going on. But that’s me. Charlee seems to be a little more reserved when it comes to her grandma. Although she has a take-charge personality, especially with me in the office, she’s willing to submit to her grandma’s brush-off.
“I think we have a few things coming up in the next week, right, babe?” I ask, shaking her shoulder a little to help her get out of her funk.
“What? Oh yes.” She nods and tries to perk up. “We have quite a few appointments this week.”
“Oh? Like what?” Grandma asks with excitement, the awkward moment shifting.
“Cake testing, going to the venue, and food testing. We’re sending out invites soon and we need to pick flowers, and then attend dance lessons.”
“Dance lessons?” I ask, not remembering that on the list.
“It’s one lesson. A requirement from the old hag sitting in front of us,” Charlee says with a teasing lilt.
“Old hag?” Grandma brings her hand to her chest. “How dare you suggest I’m old. A hag, I will take, but old—”
“You’re eighty; you’re old.”
“But young at heart.” She winks at me.
We spend the rest of the night going over wedding décor and all of our ideas. I watch Charlee slowly come back to life while her Grandma oohs and aahs over the meticulous and well-thought-out plans. The woman beside me is an organizational genius. I knew that before now, especially from the emails I received from those who attended Charlee’s presentation earlier. And she’s all mine.
> Later that night, when we’re back at my apartment, Charlee curls into my side, rests her head on my bare chest, and falls asleep. We’re both naked, but there’s nothing sexual about our embrace. It’s her clinging to me for support, seeking some relief in the stress consuming her. I realize, this is something I might get every night with her. Charlee curled into me, using me as her support system . . . her rock.
Chapter Twenty-Four
CHARLEE
“Mother . . . fucker,” Rath grunts out as he thrusts one last time inside me before collapsing on my back, the warm water from the shower cascading over us. “Jesus,” he mutters, kissing my neck. “You’re going to wring me dry, Charlee.”
Chuckling, I grip the back of his neck and move my head to the side so I can capture his mouth with mine. We make out for a few more seconds before I playfully push him away and hold my hands out to the side. “Now finish soaping me up.”
Penis still erect, chest still heaving, he says, “You can’t be serious. You want me to touch you again, after all of that?”
“Well, I need to get clean, and you have capable hands.”
“So do you.” He eyes me up and down.
I work my fingers in and out and say, “Yes, but they’re tired from yanking on your penis and playing with your balls for the last ten minutes. This girl is tired.”
His eyes grow heady, his muscles tense. He’s so predictable at this point.
Smiling coyly, I say “Thinking about how I put my finger up your—”
“Let’s not say it out loud, okay?” he huffs, cheeks turning red. “Let’s just know it happened and move on.”
“It didn’t just happen.” I contain my smile. “It made you squeal.”
“I did not fucking squeal.” He turns around, grabs the soap, and starts lathering me up.
“You’re so cute when you’re in denial. I can still feel your ass cheeks clenched around my hand as your penis grew at least another inch in my mouth.”
He pauses, hand soaping my stomach. “How long are you going to tease me, because I can make sure that never happens again?”
Laughing, I say, “You’d only be punishing yourself.”
He mumbles something under his breath and keeps rubbing the soap bar over my skin.
“What’s that? I didn’t quite hear you.”
Connecting his eyes with mine, he says, “If you ever beg me to stick my finger up your ass, I can tell you right now, it’s not going to happen.”
“Hey now. Don’t punish me because you’re embarrassed. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. That’s a really sensitive area for a man, as you could tell. And if done the right way, it can really give you some of the best pleasure you’ve ever experienced . . . as I’m sure you know.”
“Yeah, well I’d encourage you to remember what happens in the bedroom, stays in the bedroom.”
“Who am I going to tell?”
“Uh, your grandma.”
I tap my chin, thinking about it as he pulls me under the water and rinses me off. “Yeah, you’re right about that. Okay, I won’t say anything, as long as you let me do it again.”
He huffs in frustration. “Of course, I’m going to let you do it again. Christ, I blacked out.”
Chuckling, I toss my arms around his neck and lift myself up on his body, connecting our mouths for a deep, passionate kiss. His still-erect penis rubs against my core and even though I just had him, I need more, like I didn’t get quite enough, so I rub my pelvis up and down his length. He stills my hips and says, “You still want more, baby?”
I nod. “Yes, I do.”
He growls into my ear, flips the shower off, and throws on the heat lamp only to drop me on the counter of the bathroom. He props one of my legs up on the marble surface and then bends in front of me. With two fingers, he spreads me wide and rubs his tongue along my clit. God, I love how he carefully drags it up slowly only to return to the same torturous movement over and over again.
I thread my fingers through his hair, toss my head back, and marvel in the moment: the feel of him between me, how he so easily turns me on in seconds and has my orgasm building and building before I can even catch my breath.
“God, Rath, you’re . . . oh yes, you’re so good.” He removes his mouth, looks up at me with his devilish charm, and then sticks two fingers inside me, followed by one in the back. I nearly fall off the counter from the pressure that begins to build deep inside of me. “Fuck, oh fuck.” I thrust my hips toward him but he pauses my pursuit, presses his free hand down on the base of my stomach, and then brings his mouth back down to my clit where he flicks, rather than strokes.
The short rapid movements, combined with what he’s doing with his fingers, has my orgasm hitting me harder than I expected. All I can do is grip him and the edge of the counter as my body spasms against his mouth.
Rapidly my body convulses, my legs squeeze around him, as white-hot pleasure soars up my spine and shoots stars in the backs of my eyes.
Holy. Shit.
When he finally slows down and lets me recover, he pulls me into his embrace and kisses the side of my head while quietly saying, “Watching you come on my tongue has to be the best thing I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s definitely the best thing I’ve ever felt . . . well, besides having you inside me.”
He chuckles. “Keep saying shit like that and we’ll never leave this apartment.”
“We can’t have that.” My hands run up his back. “We have some food testing to attend today. Flowers and dance lessons are tomorrow. And then cake testing on Friday.”
“You’re so efficient.” He squeezes me tight and then helps me off the counter. “Can you wear that red dress I like so much? The one where I can see your cleavage?”
I roll my eyes. “You are such a horndog.”
“Is it too much to ask for my fiancée to wear what I want?”
“Only if you wear what I want.”
He chuckles and dries off with his towel. “If that were the case, I’d probably be wearing some clown outfit just because you think it’s funny.”
“It’s scary how accurate that is.”
He shakes his head and wraps his towel around his waist. “I know you, babe.” He winks and walks into the bedroom, leaving my heart stuttering and wanting more.
* * *
“Did you try the crab cakes?” Rath asks, mouth full, reaching for the teriyaki chicken. “Really fucking good, and dipped in that sauce, aah, babe, you have to try it.” He shoves some chicken in his mouth and then goes for another crab cake.
I’m not quite sure what I’m witnessing right now. I’ve never seen a human unhinge their jaw like Rath has, shove as much food in his mouth as possible, and be able to talk clearly while chewing. I know this is part of us getting to know each other better, but this is a whole new Rath Westin. I haven’t seen this unsophisticated side and honestly, even though it’s frightening, I love it. I love it so much.
“I’m not a big fan of crab cakes, but you enjoy them.” I pat his thigh.
“You sure? Because these are unlike anything I’ve had.”
Leaning closer, I say, “I thought you liked this place, that you’ve been here before.”
“I have.” He shoves a chunk of chicken in his mouth and chews while talking. “Never had the crab cakes though.”
“Mr. Westin,” the chef says, coming up to me, “is the food to your satisfaction?”
“Oh yeah.” A piece of chicken flies out of his mouth—the talented mouth that was on my pussy just this morning. “Great. Really great.”
I can’t help it. I snort into my napkin, unable to hold back anymore. He’s positively revolting to sit next to. A man in a three-thousand-dollar suit held to the highest decorum is devouring a tasting platter as if it’s his first meal back from a three-year trek across the Sahara.
So vile. So unlike him. So funny.
“Are you enjoying it as well, Miss Cox?” the chef asks, trying to tear his eyes off Rath.
>
“Oh, it was quite—”
Burp
Rath covers his mouth and chuckles as I startle and glance at my bridegroom. “Oh shit, sorry. Excuse me.”
Oh my God. I’m pretty sure his lips just shook like Homer Simpson while he burped. I saw it from the corner of my eyes, but I’m almost positive that’s what waved in my peripheral vision. Seriously, what happened to Mr. Westin? The guy sitting next to me right now is frat-boy Rath with zero manners and is counting up beer money in his spare time.
Turning back to the chef with a smile, I say, “It was quite lovely. Thank you. The chicken was superb with the mango chutney. I’ve never had anything like it.”
He bows his head and then says, “From the way Mr. Westin was eating the crab cakes, I’m going to guess those are winners as well.”
With sauce in the corners of his mouth, he holds up the last crab cake and says, “The best I’ve ever had in my life. You sold me on them.”
* * *
“Uhhhhhhh,” Rath groans, the sound of his voice vibrating off the porcelain walls of the toilet. “We are not . . .” He sits up, dry-heaves, and then rests his head against the toilet seat. On a deep breath, he continues, “Ordering the crab cakes.”
I run a cool rag over the back of his neck and rub his shoulders gently.
“You think it was the crab cakes?”
He nods. And turns his head to the side so he can look at me but still keep his mouth in the dump zone. “Had to be. You’re not puking.”
“I’m going to if you keep making those retched sounds while you throw up.”
His brow knits together. “What do you want me to do? Sing you a song while puke is coming out of my mouth?”
“Yes.” I nod and pat his neck. “If I could request “High Hopes” by Panic! At the Disco, that would be wonderful.”
Boss Man Bridegroom Page 30