“Under one condition.”
“What?” she asks.
“Don’t take off my surprise.”
Her blue eyes twinkle as she leads me to bed, directing my arms behind my head, I wait through the most exciting anticipation of my life. Staring at the ceiling, I expect her to climb on, to straddle and ride me until we’re both over our mountain and stars erupt.
She doesn’t.
When I lift my head, Shana is at the foot of the bed, crawling between my legs. Each movement ends with a kiss or a nip as she moves closer and closer.
Fuck! It’s agony how fucking slowly she’s moving.
“Shana.”
Her tongue laps over my thigh and then the other. “Have I told you how sexy I think your thighs are?”
Thighs.
“I-I...goddamn it.” I grip my own wrist, fighting my need to pull her up. “You said you wanted to be on top. Get on top.”
Her soft laugh sends electrical shocks straight to my dick. I look up, but all I can see is her golden hair as she’s inching closer. And then her lips take me in.
“Oh fuck.”
Her hands move in sync as she sucks and licks. My balls grow painfully tight.
“I’m fucking serious, Shana.”
“Not yet, baby,” she coos. “I want you to remember I’ve been here.”
She’s using my words. My girl is using my words, and I’ve never been so damn turned on in my life.
“Baby, it doesn’t work that way for men. You need to jump on...now.”
Rolling my balls in her grasp, she takes one more long suck. The pressure is building, and I’m doing everything I can think of not to blow.
I’m constructing bridges, doing math equations, counting from 100 backwards.
100
99
98
97...
Nothing is working and then...
Yes!
“Fucking...yes...”
Her lips pepper my neck with kisses as her tight pussy grips my penis and I’m propelled by catapult straight through the pearly gates.
“Trevor. Trevor.” Her soft hand cups my cheek. “Open your eyes.”
I don’t think my body has ever been this tight. I’m not sure I can control my eyes and cock at the same time.
“Trevor.”
Slowly, my eyes open to the most beautiful vision. Shana. Her hair is veiled over her shoulders, and her tits are covered in the white lace and right before my eyes.
“Please, move your arms and hold me tight.”
I will my arms to respond, reaching for her hips. As I do, she rolls herself forward and then back. “Baby, this is...”
“Hold me,” she says as her movements grow faster. “I think we may be in for a rough ride.”
Holy shit!
The friction is...like nothing...
My grip tightens as my fingers press against her hips. I can’t take my eyes off of her. The ecstasy of her expression as she moves, the way her hair teases my face when she leans down, and her hard nipples tenting the silk of the negligee...
“Trevor...Oh, Trevor...”
“I’ve got you.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Shana
Kimbra meets us at the door of her apartment, eyeing me up and down, her smile growing as she scans.
Looking down, I take a peek at the skirt and top I’m wearing, the ones I packed after talking to Kimbra. The skirt is long and flowing and the top is simple, yet chic. My shoes are a gladiator asymmetrical wedge, the soft straps fitting around my ankles. My hair is down with soft curls at the end and my makeup is minimal—especially compared to the day on the runway. And yet the way she’s looking at me, I feel exposed. Her grin makes me want to blush, as if she’s seeing beyond my well-thought-out outfit and knows every intimate thing Trevor and I have done since our last visit to her apartment.
Maybe that’s what friends see when they look at you. They see what your words haven’t had the chance to share. It’s why Stephen knew I was having bunny-rabbit sex without my saying a word.
As my other best friend briefly crosses my mind, I recall a few of his subtle hints that I’ve recently been too preoccupied to notice. Now that I think about it, if I didn’t know better, I’d say his sex life has improved too.
“Come on in, you two,” Kimbra says with a wave. “Beth and Christopher are here.”
Trevor’s hand warms the small of my back, giving me confidence as we move forward.
The moment we enter the living room and his parents come into view, my anxiety wanes. Trevor told me that his parents were in their early sixties. I should have known that the couple who donated their genes to Trevor and Duncan Willis wouldn’t be the epitome of grandparents in the making. No white-haired people with rocking chairs.
Beth, Trevor’s mom, is absolutely beautiful in a comforting but not overpowering way. She’s petite yet curvy. Her hair is a mixture of Duncan and Trevor’s, not as dark as one or as light as the other. And right away, it’s her eyes that I notice, the same stunning green as her sons’. What makes them even better is the way they’re smiling at me, sincere and loving, with little fine lines crinkling their corners.
“Shana, it’s so good to meet you again,” she says.
I fight with the again in her sentence, and then I recall Kimbra’s wedding. “Yes, Mrs. Willis, it’s nice to see you again too.”
“Oh, dear, my name is Beth,” she says as she wraps me in a hug. Over her shoulder I notice Duncan’s and Kimbra’s smiles. When she pulls back, she looks me directly in the eye. “Now, I want to hear all about how you caught my son’s attention.” She lowers her voice. “And I can’t tell you how happy we are that you did.”
I glance over to Trevor, who comes to the rescue, securing my hand and tugging me back toward him. “Mom, yes, this is Shana. Can you please let her breathe?”
Beth laughs, reaching for Trevor and giving him a hug. “I can’t believe that I had to learn about this beautiful—and from what I hear, successful—woman from someone besides my son.”
Trevor’s gaze goes to Duncan and back to his mom. “Yeah, I was surprised about that too.”
“Hey,” Duncan says, “I didn’t say a word.”
Without shame, Kimbra raises her hand. “It was me. It was all me. I just couldn’t contain myself, and well, Duncan got tired of listening to me go on and on, so I called Beth.”
A handsome man, an older version of what I decide is more Trevor than Duncan, steps forward offering me his hand. “It’s always the dad who’s the last to know. Nice to meet you, Shana. Since no one is introducing me, I will. I’m Christopher Willis.”
“Hello, Mr. Willis.”
“And that makes you, Miss Price?” he says with a wink.
“Christopher,” I correct. “It seems like you all know all about me.”
It’s Kimbra’s turn to speak. “First and last name. Occupation. Current job status as well as the possibilities for the future. Most sharable information from our living together.” She smiles my direction. “With emphasis on your affinity for shoes. I love the ones you’re wearing, by the way. Oh, and I didn’t mention cannoli.”
“Oh, do you like cannoli?” Beth asks.
Duncan, Kimbra, Trevor, and I all turn her way as the blood drains from my cheeks. I feel faint as the life-giving circulation seems to still. If it weren’t for Trevor’s hand returning to my back, I think I may fall to the floor.
“If you do,” she goes on, totally oblivious to my discomfort, “I have the best recipe. Do you bake?”
Letting out a breath, I answer with a nod, “I-I love to bake, but honestly, I don’t do much since I live alone.”
“Oh, let me send you my recipe. The best part is you can freeze them, and then you don’t have to eat them all at once.” She laughs as we all find seats around Duncan and Kimbra’s living room. “I know for me personally, if I don’t use some self-control, I can overindulge on cannoli.”
Kimbra leans bac
k in an oversized chair—or maybe a baby loveseat, I’m not sure—next to Duncan and grins. “Death by cannoli. Not a bad way to go.”
“So, Dad,” Trevor says, trying to change the subject, “how’s work?”
“Should I share with the competition?”
“Dad and I work for different engineering firms,” Trevor explains.
A few minutes later when Kimbra stands, I do also. “Maybe I could help you in the kitchen?” I ask.
Beth stands too. “I’m all for letting the men do the cleanup—well, your men,” she adds with a laugh. “Christopher and I will be off to the Philharmonic. But for now, we can help Kimbra get the dinner ready.” She puts her arm around my back. “So you and Kimbra lived together here in New York and now you live in London? I’ve always wanted to visit London. What should I see first? Buckingham Palace? The London Eye? Big Ben? There are just so many options.”
We step into the kitchen to the wonderful aroma of whatever Kimbra is cooking.
“Kimbra, this smells divine. What is it?”
She waves me off. “It’s just a pork loin. We have potatoes and some vegetables.”
“Honey,” Beth says to me, “I brought an apple pie. However, if I’d have known you loved cannoli, I would have brought my homemade ones.”
Shaking my head, I look past Beth to Kimbra’s smile, and it takes all of my restraint not to break out laughing.
“Beth,” Kimbra says, “I left my glass of wine in the living room.”
“Oh,” I say, “So did I. I can go get them.”
“Nonsense, girls, I’ll go get them.” Before Beth makes it to the door, she turns back. “Shana, I promise, I’m not always this overwhelming. It’s that I’m so happy you’re here and that you and Kimbra are friends. It’s every mother’s dream.”
“I’m happy to be here.”
Once she’s gone, I turn to Kimbra. “Death by cannoli?”
“Technically, we’ve already tried her homemade ones.” Her eyebrows dance.
My nose scrunches. “Oh my God, will you stop?”
“She is their mother. She made them.”
I shake my head, wondering how long it will take for Beth to return with our wine.
“Fine,” Kimbra says. “How was your no-plan weekend?”
“It was wonderful.”
And then reality hits me like a subway train, and my laughter disappears as tears prick the back of my eyes.
Kimbra reaches for my hands. “Babe, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable with the cannoli. It’s just that Duncan is still giving me a hard time about it.”
“A hard time? And you’re complaining?” I shake my head as I look down with a sigh and continue before letting her speak. “No. It’s not that. It’s that I really like Trevor. I like him a lot.”
“If that’s a secret, you’re not doing a good job of hiding it.”
“I think he likes me.”
“You think?” she asks.
I take a deep breath and wipe away a renegade tear that escaped down my cheek. “Five more days and it’s over.”
“Stop. It’s not. According to Stephen you killed that fashion show. Even you have told me that the numbers have exceeded speculation. I know enough about the running of a business to know that numbers speak louder than anyone’s opinion. Have faith.”
“I want to.”
Before Kimbra can reply, the kitchen door swings inward and Beth enters with three large goblets of moscato. I move toward her, trying to ease one from her hands.
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” she says, “A long time ago, I was a waitress.”
“You were?” I ask, surprised.
“Working my way through college, I could carry three platters on one arm.”
“Wow,” I say, impressed.
Kimbra bumps her shoulder into mine. “I told Beth all about you, but I didn’t have a chance to fill you in on Beth. Did Trevor?”
My cheeks warm. “We didn’t get the chance to talk...”
Beth and Kimbra laugh in a way that makes me blush while at the same time feel like I’m talking with two friends instead of just one.
“I’m not that exciting,” Beth says.
“Don’t let her fool you. Beth is a teacher. She works for a public-school system upstate, specializing in reading comprehension.” Kimbra gives her mother-in-law a knowing smile. “When it comes to patience, she’s right up there with Job.”
“My boys gave me all the practice I needed.”
Her boys.
Earlier she’d said your men.
It’s funny to think they’re the same.
While the three of us talk and laugh, I realize that Duncan’s success and wealth isn’t the status quo of how and where he and Trevor were raised. In many ways, the Willises are similar to the Prices or even Kimbra’s family, hardworking and loving, wanting nothing but happiness for each other.
As Kimbra fidgets with the last of the dinner preparations, Beth fills me in on some stories about Duncan and Trevor as children. She mentions how they coexisted but were never as close as she’d wanted. Being two years apart in age, they were more competitive than she would have liked.
“Christopher and I did our best to keep the competition to a minimum. It was pretty obvious early on that they had different interests and strengths. We tried to promote those strengths in each one.
“Trevor is more like his dad,” she says after refilling her wine glass.
“He’s quieter than Duncan,” Kimbra explains.
Beth shrugs. “The thing some people don’t see, especially if they’re around people like Duncan and me, is that men like Christopher—and Trevor, I would presume—save their words for when it’s important, for when they’re with the person they truly want to have hear them.”
Her observation returns my smile. I’d heard for over a year from Kimbra how quiet and shy Trevor was, but from our first meeting, my assessment was completely different. In Beth’s words, that makes me the one person for whom he’s saved his words.
Beth smiles at Kimbra. “And then there’s Duncan, who does take more after me. Sometimes people like us don’t know when to be quiet. It could be said that we talk too much or are too demonstrative.”
“I like demonstrative,” Kimbra says.
“And, honey, we’re all glad you do.
“I’d guess that you’re talking too much now.”
We all turn as Trevor enters the kitchen. Putting his arm around me and pulling me to his side, he asks, “Has my mother scared you off yet?”
I smile at Beth. “Actually, the opposite.”
Before we know it, all three men are in the kitchen and everyone is carrying plates and platters to the dining room. The talking and laughing barely ceases, despite the fact that we’re all eating the delicious meal.
It is as Trevor and I are leaving their penthouse that he gives me a kiss. “I’m sorry you had to put up with my family.”
“I like your family.”
He shrugs. “You know, after thirty-three years, they’re starting to grow on me too.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Shana
Emerging from the subway tunnel near Rockefeller Center, I squint as the sunshine fills the street. As the crowd pushes forward, I’m like a salmon in a stream. Thankfully, we’re all swimming the same direction.
Looking at my watch, I calculate that if I can walk the rest of the way at a swift pace, I’ll make it to the tenth floor of Saks with over three minutes to spare. Considering that Trevor and I woke later than planned, my decision to take the subway instead of aboveground transportation may have saved the day.
When I went to Trevor’s apartment Friday night, I didn’t intend to stay until Monday morning, but plans change. That’s my new attitude.
Adapt.
After spending the afternoon with his family, I didn’t want to leave him and go back to my hotel alone. Continuing our no-plans weekend, we went back to his apartment, laid a blanket on the living room
floor, picnicked with cheese and fruit, and continued our Netflix marathon with a few intermissions for exercise. Thank goodness we had the cheese and fruit for needed nourishment.
Who knew watching television was so taxing?
I giggle to myself as I make my way over to Fifth Avenue and up toward Fiftieth Street, trying not to think about how easy it would be to get used to spending my time away from work with Trevor or how nice it would be to go home to him each evening. Nevertheless, as the ideas creep into my thoughts, I find myself relishing them instead of dismissing them.
Maybe it’s a new attitude for a new week. Kimbra is right. Numbers are what matter in sales and after all, that is the essence of what I do. I sell.
“Good morning, Shana.”
“Good morning.”
I smile as I make my way back to the temporary office Stephen and I are using. As soon as I enter, Stephen’s expression takes away my newly obtained optimism. “What’s up?”
“Check your email.”
“That sounds ominous,” I say as I fling my purse into the bottom desk drawer, turn on my computer, and notice the steaming grande cup of cappuccino sitting in the middle of my desk. Prying the lid from the tall white cup, I say, “You’re the best.”
“I am.”
The screen before me comes to life, displaying too many unread emails. I guess that’s what happens when my phone is turned off. “Before I jump into whatever this is, how was your weekend with your parents?”
His expression lightens. “It was fabulous. I got to see my sister’s kid. He’s this giant baby.”
“Giant?”
“Well, he’s something like months old. You know how parents never use years. I think I figured I’m now nearing my 361st month birthday.”
I laugh, thinking how right he is. I have Facebook friends that post pictures of their children with little month signs on the baby’s tummy. For only a second, I imagine Stephen holding his sign. “So are you a giant baby?” Before he answers, I add, “And what do you want for your 361st month birthday?”
“Nothing. I’m not a giant baby. I think it’s somewhere over 30 months when you cease to be a baby and become a kid.” He points at his chest. “I’ve moved into man status.”
All ONES: The Complete Collection Page 55