Roll of a Lifetime

by Melanie Greene

  She gestured to a staircase, and Theo found he’d lost all the questions about her ex. Their steps were in sync, and the jangling of keys in her hand rang in time to his heart, and he’d gotten hypersensitive enough that the extra weight of the condoms in his pocket pressed against him. A promise, and a lure, and everything he’d been imagining since she’d barreled his way wearing star-shaped sunglasses.

  Theo waited for her to unlock the door. A look on his face like she was worth waiting for.

  “So, this is me.”

  “Hi, you.” His voice was light. Not teasing or mean or bored. Just ... light. Some kind of burden floated off her shoulders as he spoke, like the shrugging off of her backpack once she’d biked herself and Hannah home from daycare.

  She filled her lungs with buoyant air. “Hi.”

  “You’re still okay with me coming in?” No innuendo, no judgment, no demand. As if any answer was fine, so long as she addressed his curiosity.

  There went another weight. Like removing her helmet after a late-spring ride during rush hour traffic, when everything was grit and heat. Pretty soon she would be as unburdened like a Hannah-free Sunday morning, cool banks of energy reserves and a few hours free to fill as she liked.

  And she wanted him for it. For his lightness. For having a voice the opposite of Sergei’s. For checking in like her blatant invitation still left her the power to alter her plans. For that look, the one that said he hadn’t changed his own mind, and wouldn’t write her off if she had.

  She could test him. Call him on it. Wait for him to be locked back on the public side of the parking lot before renewing her invitation.

  “Hang on.”

  He stood still at her threshold.

  She pulled out her phone. “Give me one second. Texting my friend.”

  “In case I’ve got nefarious plans?”

  She unleashed a grin designed to mislead him about the sharp way his words tripped her heart. “Exactly. Telling her to check on me in a couple of hours, and alert Gillian to take custody of Hannah tonight if I can’t.”

  He snorted. Snorted. Like a rhinoceros or something. “Good luck to her getting her away from Depy.”

  Her favorite animal was the rhino. So impervious to harm. So horny. She grinned. “You haven’t met Gillian.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “She’d have to be pretty formidable.”

  Slipping her phone back into her pocket, she tilted her head up towards him. “I think elite security forces watch videos of her as part of their training. And she’s got paperwork on her side. Depy doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “Poor Depy. Good thing I’m not planning to disrupt you quite long enough to make you late getting back to Hannah.”

  One lock. The second lock. Her hand on the doorknob. “Not quite long enough?”

  Now whose voice held innuendo?

  Theo leaned at her. Just a half-inch. She had clients for whom that half-inch would be a major victory over their mobility. For Theo, it was easy. He didn’t appear to struggle with control over his body at all. But he managed to lean that measly half-inch with all the impact of a full-body hug. “As long as you like, Rachel. You tell me. I’ll follow your lead.”

  Chapter Ten

  Her apartment dizzied him. Or maybe it was the inept blood flow to his brain. Books and bright toy bins and a tidy but mismatched row of shoes at the entrance. Unremarkable furniture buried under knit blankets and a stack of folded laundry. His gaze roved, sending him impressions of a clean and organized and undersized space.

  “It’s not Buckingham Palace, but it’s mine.”

  “Sorry.” His knee-jerk apology had nothing to do with any defensiveness in her tone and more to do with worry he’d been giving her space a dismissive look.

  Rachel’s hand on his forearm cooled his blushes. “How grand a tour do you need before we get to the fun stuff?”

  He slid out of his shoes and nudged them into line next to a green sandal. The other half of the pair was a few soles away. “I’m here for your needs.”

  She let her tongue slide over her lower lip, caught that lip with her teeth. Released a silent sigh.

  He was riveted.

  “Okay, then. Kitchen, living room, bathroom’s at the end of the hall.” She waved in general directions as she led him her way. “This is my room.”

  And maybe it was anticipation, maybe the contrast to the controlled clutter in the other spaces, but he felt as if he was entering an oasis. A brass bed with green and yellow bedding, three plants thriving along the top of the dark wood dresser, gauzy curtains. And in the middle of it all, not a mirage: Rachel.

  “Cute.”

  She widened her eyes at him. “You are eloquent.”

  He rubbed the buzzed hair at the back of his neck. He shouldn’t have let the barber use clippers; it left coarse prickles and he didn’t want Rachel repulsed by running her hands over his scalp.

  He wanted Rachel to run her hands over his scalp.

  And his beard, and his body, and his cock. “Most of my words right now are beyond crude. If you want a civil conversation, let’s go back to the living room. Or a restaurant. Or anywhere I’m not looking at you and your bed.”

  She stepped to him. Her hands were strong and capable, exactly the hands he’d have expected, with her job. Stroking down his arms, circling his waist. He stroked into her hair, wrapped fingers around her nape. She grabbed his ass. Their lips met.

  Her eyes closed. She tasted of mint and her hair was a tangle of silk and, groaning, he teased his tongue against hers. Rachel hummed in response, and his cock firmed against her belly. She backed one step. Two. He followed, tight against her. Together, they slid onto the bed. He pressed her chest into his, running a hand down her spine while shifting so she straddled him. Still nipping at her lips, tasting her sweet softness, he slipped a hand under her shirt’s hem and the satin of her skin set his fingertips aflame.

  Her skin, her kiss, the eyes she opened to meet his, ate away anything he was going to say.

  The man had a magic mouth. She could do hour-long infomercials about his kisses.

  And they were just getting started.

  “One thing,” she said, lifting away and breathing heavy. “I’m out of condoms.”

  She’d passed all her human anatomy classes. She knew he didn’t have more muscles in his lips than other people. But his were firm and strong and moved in opposition to each other, like the lower was still meaning to kiss her while the upper curved in self-satisfaction.

  Somewhere behind the insistent tingling desire of her breasts a shard of curiosity prodded her to study his lips in motion.

  “Now, aren’t you glad I was never the scouting type?”

  She glanced from his lips to his bright-spark eyes. Her fingers tangled to clasp with his as their hands met between them. “I thought scouts were the prepared ones.”

  “Nope. They were all off learning meritorious skills while bad boys like me snuck around thinking up devious ways to get laid.” He slid her hands into his front pockets and canted up his hips to give her room to delve. She understood his goal, even grazed the edge of a foil packet with a fingertip. But thrusting up his pelvis also drove the ridge of his erection against her. She spread her knees wider to sink into the pleasure.

  Theo fell onto his elbows, then flat on his back, bracketing her hips while she tilted into him. Those lips of his softened as he breathed out a moan.

  It was too much. She was breaking into a sweat of need and panting and desperate action. She hooked a finger to draw out the condom, ran the heel of the other hand up his flies. Smiled at his louder moan. He unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans and started on his own. She peeled off her shirt and bra.

  For a moment—two seconds, no more—as he was caught in the tangle of his Elixir-branded tee, his face was covered and memories of Sergei’s body superimposed themselves. The broad inverse triangle of a torso, the black curls of chest hair. Had every man she’d fucked had those same nipples, or just
these two?

  But then his shirt sailed over her shoulder and he—Theo—stroked a thumb along her collarbone. Slid the other hand to the curve of her lower back. Swallowed audibly as he let his gaze roam her body. Everything as slow and quiet as river water coming to a boil over a campfire.

  And as inevitable, given the heat.

  She laughed her relief at finding herself right where she was, in her room, in her safe apartment, atop Theo. Dangling a condom in front of him. He snagged it and tossed it beside them as they finished stripping, and then they were right back to speed and hands and tongues and flesh. He was a man with good flesh, Theo. Warm and sure and tender. A touch too tender, until Rachel showed him what she liked. The firm pad of his thumb, the figure eight stroke that distracted her from her urge to explore his cock. His ass, his thighs, his entirely delicious abs. She collapsed back into her blanket as Theo focused in on her clit, clamped her feet against his calves in case he got foolish notions about abandoning her before she came.

  He did not abandon her.

  He did not stop stroking. His thumb obeyed her wishes, and he fulfilled desires she hadn’t spoken aloud—unless Theo knew the language of groans and growls. Tongued her nipple, sucked, tugging a bit on her hair as he increased the tempo on her clit. Let her writhe. Her arms flailing, then hands landing in his coarse thick hair, and he grinned at her.

  Maddening.

  He maddened her. Slowed his movements. Made them lighter. Made her thrash as she threw herself at him, compensating for his failure of a thumb by doing all the work herself. Fuck that. She was a single mom, she knew about doing all the work herself.

  But before she could twist her hips away and bring herself to orgasm, Theo said, “Condom.”

  Begged her, really.

  So she bucked herself into his hand to make a point, but clawed the packet towards them and ripped it open, rolled it down his hot hard cock. They both were groaning, and hers turned into a gasp of bliss as he thrust into her. Thrust deep, but levered his body up so there was no need for his thumb to leave her clit. Smart, maddening man. He withdrew and slid back, slow, counterbalancing the torturous pace with his thumb’s rapid pulse at her clit. Rachel’s head spun and her fingers dug into his shoulders and she lost the last of her breath as she cried out and came.

  He gentled again, fully sheathed in her, and traced tickle-sharp fingers up her sides. Waited for her half-open eyes to meet his smug look before leaning in for a kiss. Kiss. Meager word for the leisure and life and laughter and length of their lips meeting. Murmurs became words, and he asked, “Good?” Not self-satisfied, not curious, no. He was checking in, and maybe warning her, too, because when she nodded, Theo shifted apart his knees, braced his hands on her hips, and began to move.

  Yes. Hell, heaven, all the gods and goddesses both full and demi, yes. He tried to focus on the soft blur of her eyes, slumberous but somehow still challenging, and ramped up his pace. Harder, more rhythmic, pushing forward and forward and forward until her eyes widened and her breathing matched his.

  Both their voices half-coherent in rhythm, yes and god and oh and yes. Her arms flailed but then she got a grip on his ass and he was empty of finesse. No control at all. Nothing but the way she squeezed him tight, inside and out, and his thrusts slammed deep as he, as she, as they both moaned and came and panted and came and groaned.

  She slid him to her side, a cool spot on her mattress that fast warmed to his radiating body heat. He mustered the energy to roll his head her way. “Wow.”

  Her eyes stayed closed but her smile broadened. “Ummm.”

  “I’ll get water,” he said, but let the torpor take his muscles until she nudged his ankle with her toe.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled.

  He leaned in for a kiss before swinging himself upright. A quick detour to dispose of the condom and splash water over his flushed face, then he made himself at home in her kitchen. He found a tray between the fridge and microwave, and assembled a couple of sandwiches to bring back to bed.

  “My hero.” Rachel fluffed her pillows. She’d folded their clothes and donned a robe and tidied the bed. He froze in her doorway, a naked statue bearing sustenance. Even more out of place than the Parthenon Marbles in the British Museum.

  Then she approached, and her robe gaped open, and she stroked up his flank before taking the tray. So he relaxed.

  Except for the part of him fixated on the swell of her breasts.

  She grinned. “If we’re going for round two already, I’d better set this on the dresser for now.”

  He glanced at his watch. “I’m ready if you are.”

  “Good.” She drained her water glass, and set it back with a distinct thunk. “I’m ready.”

  He had no right to be proud of himself that she didn’t stop to fold her robe after discarding it. His chest filled with glory anyway.

  Thorough sex, hasty sandwiches, dressing to beat the clock. With each second beside her, the feeling spread and became something too intense and too fragile for his own good. He didn’t make the slightest attempt to curtail it. By the time they hastened out of her apartment so she could get back to Hannah, his mind was full of next time and hopefully also the time after that. It wasn’t until they’d driven off their separate ways that he realized he still didn’t have her number.

  Chapter Eleven

  “So guess what?”

  “Why are you whispering?” Gillian asked. They’d met for their monthly lunch date, this time at a Belgian restaurant not far from the community center where Rachel taught her wheelchair patients to navigate obstacles.

  “I’m not whispering.” She glanced around again to ensure none of her seniors had ended up in the restaurant, then spoke more firmly. “I can be quiet without whispering. It’s allowed.”

  Gillian leaned forward, sliding the small vase of daisies aside. “Why are you being quiet?” she whispered.

  Rachel narrowed her eyes, but Gill just smirked. She sighed. “Fine. I took Theo home on Wednesday.”

  Gillian started. The wood chair leg screeched against the floor. Gillian winced, then slid back to the table. “Sorry. I was surprised.”

  “I noticed.”

  “In my defense, it’s been three years since you had sex.”

  She regarded her friend, who seemed serious as all get out. “Gill, it hasn’t even been three months.”

  “What?”

  She tapped her fingers against the table as she counted back. “Well, I know I’d finished my taxes, so maybe a little more than three months? But it was around then. Why did you ... hang on. How did you think I haven’t been with anyone since Hannah? Even mamas got libidos, you know.”

  “I know.” Gillian’s cheeks hinted at a flush. Gillian, queen of the dating apps, proclaimer of sexual freedom for all, gifter of Rachel’s post-divorce vibrator.

  “You thought my last sex was with Sergei? Sergei?”

  “Well, you haven’t had relationships since the divorce.” She tilted her head, frowned her brow. “Have you?”

  Rachel smiled. “No, sweetie. I’ve been uncoupled. But I’ve picked guys up.”

  While their server delivered their meals, she worked on unraveling Gillian’s misconception. “Not a lot, and okay, maybe I’ve been more private about it than you are with your hookups—I’m not judging, you know I’m not—but we roomed together for two years. How would you think I’d stop having sex after Sergei?”

  Now Gillian was the quiet one. “I’m glad I’m wrong. Sorry for the weird reaction. It’s a relief, if I’m removing all varnish here. I thought that sniveling turd of a louse had....”

  The sheen of her eyes meant Gill wanted to march on Sergei with pitchforks, but lacked the spoons.

  Rachel reached over and squeezed her hand. “You thought he broke me. You thought he’d sucked the life out of me and turned me into someone who only works and moms and needs her best friend to drag her out to a monthly lunch to remind her that she has more to her than that.”

&n
bsp; “No. No no no. I don’t take you to lunch because of that. Rachel, don’t think that way.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Don’t think that way?”

  They laughed; Gill was the one who bristled most about people telling her how her mind should operate.

  “Fine. Be autonomous in your thinking. But listen to me: I take you to lunch because I love you and I want to hang out with you. And because someone has to listen to my stories about horrid men.”

  “Ohh.” Gillian had the best bad hookup stories. Rachel slid to the edge of her chair. “Who was he and what did he do?”

  “I thought he was a typical hot nerd type; we ran into each other at the library. But when we finished, still laying in his bed mind you, he told me he bet my students would be so jealous of him.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. And now I can never go back to the library in case I encounter more people with a Hot for Teacher fantasy, and that means I’ll never finish my conference paper. So dealing with headaches like that, I never thought you were missing out by not hooking up. Though, I admit, it’s true I don’t think you get enough time to enjoy yourself on your own. But that’s because you have a two-year-old, not because I’m trying to—to reprogram the way you operate. I love you exactly as you are.” She lifted her own eyebrows, and went on with a wicked lilt. “But I thought you never had anyone to help you with your orgasms.”

  “Gillian!”

  “Well, you never said. I thought you were off men.”

  She had to smile at the approval in her friend’s voice. “You are such nonsense. Now I wish I’d mentioned it every time I hooked up.”

  “If nothing else, I wish you had, too, so I could be ready to rescue you if you needed me.”

  “Oh, that’s Serena’s job.”

  Gillian munched a fry, considering. “You told Serena?”

  “We always put each other on alert when we go out with someone new. Or, now I gather I put both her and Dillon on alert. It’s gotten a little unequal since they fused at the hip.”