“Fuck.”
“Well, that, too, if you like. But not underwater. I looked it up, condoms won’t work in pools.”
He brought a hand to his neck, jerked it away, and yanked off the gloves. “Give me two minutes to put all this away.”
As he moved to pick up the bucket, she pivoted and, deliberate as could be, bent from the waist to collect her bag and dress. She glanced over her shoulder at the mess he’d made sloshing water across the floor. “Two minutes and counting, Theo.”
She deposited her stuff on the sofa, and left the sliding door open, the better to relish his laughing curse when she tossed the bikini top over her shoulder before diving into the pool.
She flipped over underwater and popped up like a naiad, sun glinting in the wet curls she scooped back over her head. She began lazy backstroke away from him, thighs flashing open and closed, water lapping against the peaks of her bare breasts. Singing an off-key pop song.
He shook off his frozen-statue state, stripped, and strode towards the far end of the pool, his cock the only part of him still marble-hard. He reached the far deck just as she did, and was about to plunge in beside her when she stopped him.
“Stand there a minute.”
He met her gaze. Her eyes, a brighter blue than the water, were wide with hunger. She pulled herself to the edge, then grasped his ankles.
“Kneel down.”
His toes curled over the edge. His squat trapped her hands under his thighs, which seemed to be all the anchor she needed to pull herself up. The slide of her wet thumbs along his shins made him shiver, but not as much as the vision of her dripping torso rising out of the water.
“Did you bring out a condom?”
He sucked in a breath at her question, at the way she whispered it into his inner thigh, at the biting kiss she planted near his knee before sinking back down. At the playful, sexy, lusty aggression of her.
When he tipped his chin to the opposite deck in answer, she tugged to release her hands. “Come make me come, then,” she said, and kicked off the side of the pool.
He launched himself towards her.
As soon as they were within his depth, he caught hold of her calf and reeled her in, wrapping hand over hand up her leg until he’d stroked every inch. Tucking that leg behind his back, he pressed her crotch into his belly and drew her body up into his arms. His erection stiffened, straining up towards her ass, but all his urgency was focused further up. He needed to tongue her nipples, to swirl the tight peaks and suck and nibble and taste until she moaned his name.
Rachel bucked her pelvis against him. Her arms clasped his head tight to her chest. He feasted on the sweet, slick mounds. Buried his nose in the valley between them, nipped the undersides and then, as she cried out yes, groaned out his name, rubbed her increasingly frantic crotch against his body, he left her to hold herself up and trapped each nipple under his thrumming thumbs.
Such a goddamn goddess, half-submerged and all wet, breasts thrust high and tight into his hands, mouth wide on a demand for more.
He would give her more. He would give her everything she ever wanted.
Banish the thought. It opened the door to the problems. Not the right time to resurrect pledges he’d promised to stop making, the emotions she wasn’t sure about accepting. Not the right time to daydream about the future.
That was the past.
In the now, he held Rachel Groff’s every wet, luscious curve, and only a scrap of fabric separated him from the wettest part of her.
He tugged the knot at her hip, working his hand under the fabric. Her palms cupped his jaw, and the kiss made it clear she was pleased with the ways his fingers explored. Her tongue thrust into his mouth, and he returned the favor. With tongue and with fingers. She writhed. Her slick breasts slid and pressed against his chest. His thumb circled her clit, and it was all he could do to keep his feet planted so she could anchor to his body while the water and her undulations sent her flashing, swirling around him.
“Jesus, Theo, I need more.”
In the now, in the future. It didn’t matter when. He’d give her everything.
Pushing off, he drew her to the edge of the pool and eased her up so her ass perched there, cushioned by a towel he’d dropped on his way outside. He ducked long enough to slide his shoulders beneath her thighs. She laughed when he shook his head and water flew from his hair to land on her belly, but gasped when he dug his fingers into her hips and plunged his tongue into her pussy.
She tasted like chlorine and salt and a tang that was all her, all Rachel, all sex. He took his time, as much as he possibly could, considering the way she used her heels and thighs to lock his lips at her entrance. It was the only place he wanted to be.
Her clit swelled in his mouth. Each flick of his tongue, each little suck and graze of his teeth, drove her higher. She’d given up on words, nothing so coherent as a full syllable echoed around them as he focused, intent, on the quivering message of her every movement.
As soon as she shook her way through orgasm, he moved. The buoyancy of the water, the propulsive need of his throbbing dick, the way the dappled sunshine painted patterns he needed to touch all over her body: something or everything made him urgent. Hard and fast and urgent.
The condom was on the lounger and he swiped a towel across his face and hands and cock so he could roll it on with maybe a tenth of the urgency he felt. She’d followed him, pressed him into the cushion, and straddled him. “Fuck. Rachel.”
“That’s the general idea.” Laconic words, but she fitted them together and slid down with all the heat and haste he needed. One thrust, his body and hers working together, and he was in, deep, planted inside her warmth. He braced his feet on the ground and pushed and pulsed and pulled her hips to match their rhythms.
“Too much?”
“Hell no. Faster is good. Faster, harder.”
“Rachel.” He couldn’t get enough of the way she leaned over him, the way she palmed her breasts, the way she panted.
“More.”
“Serious?”
She toyed with her nipples, groaned. He pressed a thumb to her clit, and she moved faster, wilder. Louder.
“Serious, then.” And then his hands gripped her ass and she braced against his chest and he drove and dove and plunged and thrust and his cock felt so right inside her, and somewhere in there he noticed the tight pulses of her orgasm but he was so lost in the wonder and primal joy of his own he could only moan, and come, and shudder alongside her.
So, the sex was great.
It wasn’t on her list, but odds were everyone took that as given. And she’d long since confirmed to the gals that Theo matched several of her rolls from Serena’s romance prediction game. So no one would be surprised by how he met every promise of the ‘sexytimes’ column’s lightning bolt icon.
But it was her list, and she could put anything she craved on it. And ‘great sex’ didn’t beat out ‘good with kids’ or even ‘honest about emotions’ but it was up there. Because she craved it, and because she deserved it. Deserved a partner who cared about her desires. Who was passionate about their physical connection, and who responded to her overtures, and who was damn adept at it. She deserved all that.
Deserved ... him. Theo. And sure, she was supposed to make a general list, not just name good things about him. She had an idea there were one or two things about him she would never have searched out in a partner. But no dwelling on potential faults when they were collapsed together in the warmth of summer sun and post-orgasmic endorphins.
The day flew forward in delightful ways. He’d put together a spread of hummus and salads and his homemade pitas for lunch, which they followed up with a movie cuddled together on the couch. Making out, talking about life, bragging about their children, a little complaining about their children, making out some more. Narrowly avoiding a permanent rift over pizza toppings before going out for tacos and dancing instead. Rumpling up his cool crisp sheets, and drifting off to sleep as his fi
ngers drifted up and down her spine.
And waking him up later, to find him all too ready to indulge her desires.
So. Yes. Great sex was staying on her list.
Chapter Twenty-Five
She drove from Theo’s place to the boutique. Serena and Natalie were there, but no Gillian.
“Are we surprised?” Serena asked, trailing a hand along the long row of plastic-encased bridal gowns. Other than for lip color, Gill was not much of a shopper.
“More surprised that you picked this place. I thought we’d be tailoring something from a thrift shop and we would all think you were way off-base but you’d turn up looking like a goddess in some transformed orange polyester jumpsuit.”
At the look Natalie shot her, Rachel said, “What? You know it’s true.”
Serena’s shoulders shook. “Okay, not polyester, if I can help it. But, yeah. All this is much more your kind of thing, Nat.”
They caught Natalie admiring her engagement ring. Again. And she blushed. Again.
“Oh, you’re too easy to bait.” Rachel turned to Serena. “So, is this a stealth mission to find Nat’s dress instead of yours? Or did Dillon talk you into a big elegant formal affair?”
She snort-laughed. It was not elegant. “Hardly. I promised my mom I would look at traditional dresses before going my own way.”
Rachel’s forehead creased. “Your mom expects you to get all poufed out in white?” Caricatures of aging hippies were based on Serena’s mother.
She shook her head, rueful. “I know, right? It’s because of Ridley and Neera’s wedding.” Serena’s stepbrother had married not long before, and Serena claimed she’d heard every story about the event at least five times. “She wasn’t allowed to do anything to help, so now she’s devouring bridal magazines and coming up with all these tradition-bound schemes we have to keep shooting down.”
The shop assistant showed them to a seating area when Serena refused to make any preliminary decisions. “I’m trying on two dresses, so I can show her the pictures, and I’m making Gillian help because that’s her punishment for showing up late.”
“Okay then, someone distract me from all the pretty lace,” Natalie said. “I promised my mom I’d dress shop with her, and this place is seriously tempting to me to break my word.”
“Go for it. You can tell her how Serena is thwarting Becky’s mother-of-the-bride fantasies, and she’ll forgive you anything.”
“I would, but I also promised Evan’s mom—remember Marisa?—she could join in the dress hunt. I have to have someone there who won’t tell me a princess dress is magnifying my hips. Mom already agreed to that, and I don’t want to push her too far.”
Rachel nodded, then shook her head.
“What?”
“No, your reasons make sense. But talking about Marisa reminded me of my mother-in-law problems. Ex-mother-in-law problems.”
Serena extended a water bottle across the gilt mirrored table. “This sounds distracting. What did Depy do now?”
She tucked the bottle against her leg and pulled out her phone. “Okay, you know about name days, right?”
Natalie glanced towards Serena, then back at her. “Um, maybe?”
“Basically, if you’re named after a saint, that saint’s name day is a big damn deal. Party time, everyone gathers round. No cake, but for Depy, anyway, it’s bigger than her birthday.”
“I’m sensing this is where the problem comes in,” Natalie said.
“You’re a regular Phryne Fisher. Of course that’s the problem. Despoina’s name day is August fifteenth, and that’s the week I’m taking Hannah to visit my family. And I’m already on her shit list because Hannah’s name day is Thursday and I won’t let Sergei take her.”
“Did he put it on the schedule?”
She rolled her eyes at Serena. “Ha. Anyway, he’s doing some nonsense at Elixir on Wednesday instead, but that hasn’t stopped Depy moaning about it. Or about August.”
“So, she wants you to cancel your trip?” Serena asked.
“Her first suggestion was that I leave Hannah with her all week, and visit Blythe and my folks on my own. She tried to make out like I would have all this great freedom to stay up all night gabbing with my sister. As if she doesn’t know that perfect Blythe only breaks her early to bed routine if she’s on an overnight rotation.”
“One of these days that woman will have a problem she can’t solve with seven solid hours of sleep at night.” Serena rolled her eyes.
She scraped her hair back from her forehead. “Mom and Dad will be there to help stop whatever tries to bring her down.”
“Never mind Blythe. What did Depy do?” Natalie asked. She nabbed Rachel’s phone. “Can I?”
She nodded. “Read the two newest emails.”
Nat tapped in Rachel’s passcode and began scrolling. After a bit, she passed the phone to Serena, asking, “What’s it called when you combine blackmail with emotional blackmail? There should be a special term for that. Remind me to ask Gillian when she gets here.”
Serena snorted again, more elegantly now that she was expressing disdain instead of humor. She must have gotten to the part about Rachel’s job. When she’d refused to switch her vacation dates, Depy had phoned her boss to check Rachel’s story. Rachel’s boss had refused to confirm or deny her ability to change her schedule, which offended Depy but didn’t stop her campaign.
Her current offer was to pay to fly Hannah to Colorado after the party. Alone. ‘She takes her dose of cold medicine before takeoff, she will sleep the whole flight, she’ll never notice a thing.’
Rachel had paced the perimeter of her apartment fourteen times upon reading that, working up the calm with which to ask Hannah questions about her bedtime routine at Daddy’s house. Two-year-olds were not reliable witnesses. Even leading up to the topic—‘what color is your Daddy house toothbrush?’ ‘do you want to pick another animal friend to sleep at the Daddy house with you?’ ‘does Yia Yia read you bedtime books sometimes?’—she didn’t expect an easy yes or no to ‘do your father and grandmother make you drink cough syrup so you’re easier to get to sleep?’
In the end, she only learned the toothbrush color. Though Hannah might have been thinking of her purple toothbrush in their own bathroom. She might never have noticed toothbrushes came in any other color, since Rachel tended to buy purple ones for them both.
“This is ridiculous.” Serena handed back the phone. “I get she cares a lot about her party, but if she wanted to be sure Hannah was at it, she should have checked the custody schedule.”
“If we can, she can,” Natalie agreed.
Rachel stashed the phone and locked together her fidgeting fingers. “I know it’s ridiculous. But how should I respond?”
Natalie was scrolling through her own calendar. “If you want, I could fly up with Hannah, so she isn’t taking the trip on her own. I can even hang out a while and drive back with y’all. Depy would have to pay for my flight, though.”
“That’s also ridiculous,” Serena said. “If anything, Depy can pay to fly them both round trip, then Rach can save herself the long drive and still have almost as much time with her family.”
Natalie had opened her browser and was checking flight schedules. “Tell her she’ll also have to rent you a car.”
“And a car seat,” added Serena, waving off the boutique assistant who was trying to lure her to a rolling rack of dresses she’d selected.
“Right, and a car seat. Tell her it will be a thousand dollars. Then she can decide if it’s worth a grand to her to have Hannah fall asleep at the table halfway through her party.”
Rachel was circling the heel of her hand against her heart when Gillian plopped down beside her. “What are we talking about?”
“Oh, hey, you made it. What’s the word for blackmail on top of emotional blackmail?” Natalie asked.
“What’s the context?”
“Depy wants to change the schedule for Rachel’s vacation.”
G
illian’s snort was more eloquent than anything Serena could manage. “In that case ... blacklighting.”
Natalie leaned across to grab Gill’s knee. “You’re the best.”
“Right back at you.” She turned to Serena. “What dress did you choose?”
“Nope. Nice try. Haven’t even looked at them. I waited until you got here.”
“You’re the worst.”
“Maybe, but it gave us a chance to brainstorm ways to get Depy off Rachel’s back.”
Pivoting towards Rachel, Gill arched her brows. “And what prompted us to brainstorm that?”
She explained about name days and the options that would let Hannah attend the party.
“Three questions,” Gillian said, once her narrowed eyes silenced Rachel’s justification of their thinking.
“Okay?”
“Did Sergei ever make up his child support?”
Across from them, both Serena and Natalie hitched themselves forward on the chaise cushions. Rachel applied the heel of her hand to her stomach. “The ombudsman should be giving me a case update next week. It’s clear-cut, so I expect the order will go through to increase his withholding by twenty percent until he’s caught up.”
“And never mind that while he wasn’t paying you because he wasn’t working somewhere they could send a court order, he bought that obnoxious vehicle?” Gillian held up a hand. “That’s not my next question, it was rhetorical. Next question: is Despoina Matsouka the pattern of motherhood you want to copy and model for your daughter?”
“God, of course not. I mean, at least she loves Hannah. And Sergei. But she helped turn him into the narcissistic ass to begin with.”
“Okay, then. Why the hell are you considering any change to a plan you made with the full forces of the law, morality, and common courtesy behind you?”
The bridal salon likely wouldn’t approve of her hugging her legs to her chest, since it meant pressing her tennis shoes into the brocade couch.
Gillian slipped a palm onto her back and rubbed gently. “That wasn’t a rhetorical question, Rach. Why are you defaulting to accommodating them? They don’t get to change your plans. If Sergei wanted Hannah that weekend, he had the option of requesting it as part of his summer custody. Maybe he’ll remember to do so for next year, and maybe he never will, and so what? So what if Depy is mad about it? So what if Sergei blusters? It’s not your problem, Rach. It certainly doesn’t matter one way or another to Hannah. You don’t change your plans. Even if she charters a plane for you. He can learn how to follow the rules, and they can both back off instead of asking you to bend over backwards.”
Roll of a Lifetime Page 17