Back in the Burbs

by Flynn, Avery

  “So that means you can take your shirt off all on your own?” He punctuates the question with a dare-you smirk that makes my breath catch.

  I didn’t think it was possible to want him more, but I do. A man who hears what I need and gives it to me is the sexiest thing in the world to me. All I want in that moment is to feel Nick’s hands on my bare skin, so I grab the hem of my filmy red tank top and slowly pull it over my head, then drop it to the floor.

  “Guess you really didn’t need my help,” he says, his gaze sliding over me with an intensity that leaves every part of me burning.

  He takes a step back and then, without a word—not a single word—he reaches behind his neck and tugs his T-shirt off over his head.

  Holy. Fuck. Just holy. Fuck.

  All those dreams about him mowing the lawn without his shirt were woefully inadequate. It isn’t just the abs or the hard wall of his chest or the dusting of dark hair that goes from his belly button and disappears behind the button of his jeans. It’s that I want this man. Badly. It hits me like a crosstown bus, the lust and desire. I. Want. Nick. Holloway.

  And for one of the very few times in my adult sexual life, I am going to experience the satisfaction of getting exactly what I want. With that thought in mind and his abs firmly in my sights, I walk slowly and deliberately over to where he stands.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” he teases, his eyes hot as I stop in front of him.

  I don’t answer—at least not verbally. Instead, I glide my fingertips straight down the center of his abs, from the hollow of his throat to his belly button.

  He shudders at my touch, his eyes blazing even hotter as I tangle my fingers in his belt loops and tug him close. He comes willingly—eagerly—and the moment his body meets mine, everything inside me shuts down but the want. The need. The have-to-have.

  He’s big and strong and warm—so warm that I want to burrow into him and just breathe. So I do. For long seconds, I press my body tightly to his and relish the feel of him against me. More, I relish the feelings inside me—the fact that I can want like this after years of feeling nothing with Karl. Of feeling less than nothing, if I’m honest.

  Eventually, Nick slides his hand up to cup my jaw and I turn into it. I press a kiss to the center of his broad palm. And then I tilt my head, raising my lips to his.

  I expect him to slam his mouth down on mine, to repeat what happened earlier when he said that he wanted me. Instead, he’s gentle as he brushes his lips against mine. As he slides his tongue along my lips. As he tangles his hands in my hair and tugs my head back just a little to give him better access.

  For several seconds—minutes—he devours me, his lips and tongue and teeth ravishing me in a way I didn’t know I wanted to be ravished. A way I didn’t know I could be ravished. I love every second of it. So much so that I ravish him right back, loving the way he responds to me—like he can’t get enough.

  Eventually, though, he pulls back, and I would complain, except his hands are skimming along the sensitive skin of my lower back, and it feels good. So good.

  It’s been too long since I’ve been touched like this. Not just since I asked Karl for a divorce but for months—maybe years—before that, when sex had become perfunctory, just a box to be checked off whenever Karl was in the mood instead of something hot and desperate and intimate.

  As Nick’s fingers dance across my skin, it is all of those things. Hot and desperate and intimate—so intimate—as his mouth slides along my jaw and down the soft, exposed column of my throat.

  “I’m going to take these off now,” he tells me as he takes hold of the button on my jeans. It’s a question as much as it’s a statement, and I appreciate the care, the concern, even in the middle of all this heat.

  “Yes,” I answer, my hands clutching at his hair. “Please. Yes.”

  Seconds later, my jeans are gone as I stand in front of him in nothing but my navy-blue satin bra and panties set. For a second, it doesn’t matter—nothing does but the way his hands feel sliding along my arms and over my back.

  But then it hits me.

  Nick is the first non–medical professional not named Karl to see me this naked in ten years. I’m not in my twenties anymore. There’s a definite pooch above the waistband of my panties. When my bra comes off, my boobs lower a few degrees. And there’s cellulite on my hips that just appeared one morning and never went away.

  The heat starts to curdle in my stomach, discomfort turning all the sensations inside me to something else as Karl’s voice plays in my head, picking every single inch of me apart over the days and months and years of our marriage.

  I start to turn away, to cover myself, but Nick is looking at me like a desperate man. And like he very much loves what he sees.

  And that’s enough—more than enough—to bring me back to myself. To the moment. Karl has already taken so much away from me. No way is he going to take this moment, too.

  So when Nick draws me closer and runs his lips over my shoulders with soft, sweet kisses, I don’t stop him. I don’t do anything but tilt my head back and enjoy every second of it.

  His mouth never leaves my skin as he finishes stripping me—and himself. But then he’s kissing his way down my body, his mouth sliding lower and lower until my already shaky knees threaten to give way.

  I clutch at his shoulders and he laughs, moving lower still, pulling one leg over his shoulder and kissing me more intimately, his tongue stroking against me as though I were his only sustenance. And just like that, my body breaks like the ocean against the shore. Pleasure rolls over me—through me—in waves that sweep me under…and away.

  I’m vaguely aware of what happens next—of Nick reaching toward a side table and grabbing a condom out of his wallet before pulling off his pants and boxer briefs, then sinking down on the sofa and pulling me over him.

  “You can still change your mind,” he whispers against the sensitive skin behind my ear.

  “I’m not changing anything,” I answer. Not here, when Nick is pressed hot and hard against me and not now, when I finally feel good. When I finally feel more like myself than I have in a very long time.

  “Good.” I feel the upward curve of his lips against my skin. And then his hands are on my hips—soft and urgent and desperate.

  I lift onto my knees, then lower myself slowly, relishing the way the heat and strength and power of him fill up parts of me I didn’t even know were empty before tonight—before this moment.

  “I want to hear you,” Nick says, his voice harsh and breath coming way too fast. “Let me hear you.”

  I can’t deny him—or myself. Not on this. For once, I don’t have to stay quiet while I come all by myself in the bed next to a snoring husband. I can moan and sigh and talk dirty and whatever the hell else I want.

  So I do.

  It feels amazing, just like everything else about this afternoon. And this man.

  My fingers tangle in his hair.

  My hips move against his.

  My lips slide over his.

  Electricity. Power. Need. They sweep through me all at once—sweep through us both—and take us up, up, up. Until I can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but feel.

  I’m drowning in sensations, drowning in a need I’ve never felt before, and just when I’m certain I can’t take any more—that we can’t take any more—I shatter into a million tiny pieces.

  Nick breaks with me, and it isn’t until long minutes later, when I’m finally able to remember my own name and how to do something more than tremble and cling, that I can’t help wondering how many of his pieces have gotten mixed up with mine.

  And how I’m supposed to give them back.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  I wake up with a hand cupping my breast and a long, warm body pressed against my back.

  I’d like to say it takes me a
few seconds to remember where I am, but the truth is, I know where I am as soon as I drift into consciousness—maybe even before. I’m in Nick’s house, in Nick’s bed, and every single muscle in my body is aching just enough to remind me of what we spent most of the evening doing.

  I moan a little—in horror, not pleasure—as images from last night flash through my brain at high speed.

  Nick slamming into me against the wall as I dug my nails into his back and begged for more.

  Nick dropping me down on the edge of his bed and then falling to his knees between my legs.

  Nick turning me over while a third orgasm still had my knees shaking and plunging inside me until I screamed myself hoarse with pleasure.

  Nick touching me, kissing me, fucking me, over and over and over again.

  Nick throwing his head back as he came.

  Nick smiling wickedly.

  Nick.

  Nick.

  Nick.

  He’s all I can see against the black backdrop of my closed lids. All I can feel wrapped around me in this warm, toasty bed. All I can smell or taste or hear as I try to get my galloping heart and rampaging imagination under control. What happens next? It’s hard to have a one-night stand with a guy who lives across the street!

  I take a deep breath in an effort to tamp down the panic sliding around inside me, but it doesn’t work. Partly because I’m too freaked out and partly because Nick is waking up, his long, lean, hard body moving against me even as his fingers stroke and squeeze my nipple.

  Heat that never really went away flares to life, and there’s a part of me that wants nothing more than to roll over and kiss him. To graze my hand along his body until he’s trembling against me. To shift down the bed and take him deep inside my mouth, my throat.

  But there’s another part of me that is screaming about the fact that I’m supposed to be walking into his office to work for him in less than two hours. And before that, I have to do the walk of shame across the street to my house in front of the entire neighborhood.

  What am I supposed to do? This is a mess. A huge, giant mess, and I’ve no idea how I’m supposed to fix it.

  Nick’s hand drifts lower, down my rib cage and across my stomach, and I stiffen as all the worries in my head come roaring over me.

  His hand stops immediately.

  “Hey,” he says in a voice that is even lower and sexier and more gravelly than usual. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” The word sticks in my throat as I roll over to climb out of bed. “I should probably get going—”

  “Going? Now?” He sounds surprised, and maybe even a little concerned.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Everything is—”

  “Wait a minute.” He tugs me onto my back so that I can’t hide from him, then props himself up onto an elbow.

  He’s pulled away and isn’t touching me anymore, and there’s a wariness on his face that makes my stomach churn even as it exacerbates every fear I have deep inside.

  “What’s going on inside that head of yours?” he asks.

  “As opposed to outside this head of mine?” I snark.

  Nick sighs, even as he reaches up to brush a few strands of hair out of my face. “I’m sorry. I probably should have said this before we ended up in bed last night, but the moment just got away from us both. We should discuss boundaries, you working for me right now and all. So there are no misunderstandings, yes?”

  Oh God. The only thing more embarrassing than the walk of shame for all of Huckleberry Hills is for the guy, whose house said walk begins with, to first tell me this was a onetime thing.

  “I get it,” I tell him, shoving away and out of bed. “You don’t have to spell it out.”

  “Spell what out?” he asks as my gaze darts around for a blanket or towel. Or hell, a dirty sock on the floor.

  My clothes are in the living room, and I’ve never been more embarrassed being naked in my life. It’s one thing having Nick look at me yesterday, when everything was couched in a sea of lust. It’s another altogether to have him staring at me with clear eyes in the harsh glare of the morning sunlight. I head toward the door in all my un-glory.

  “That this can’t happen again,” I clarify. “That we’re about to start working together and are neighbors and need to stay friends.” I toss a wave over my shoulder and try to make it out the door with my last shred of dignity. “Like I said, I get it.”

  Except Nick is around the bed before I can even get to the door. “Hey,” he says, grabbing my hand. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s what I was going to say, so you don’t need to bother with trying to let me down easy.”

  He’s nicer than Karl and probably wants to get out of this without hurting anyone’s feelings, but I don’t have it in me to listen to him fumble around trying to be a good guy.

  Things are what they are—better to just lay it out there so there are no hurt feelings or misconceptions. The last thing my pride can take right now is another man thinking I’m going to shrivel up and die without him.

  I’m not, and it’s important that both of us know that.

  “Okay,” he says after a second of studying my face. “If that’s all that needs to be said, then I’m going to catch a shower before work. I’ll see you in the office at eight.”

  He smiles tightly, then turns and walks straight into the master bathroom without a backward glance.

  Seconds later, I hear the shower start, just like he said. And though I suddenly want to stick around and try to figure out why he went from warm and amused to cold and distant so quickly, the clock is ticking. I need to head home, fend off my mom and sister, and grab a shower of my own before getting dressed for my very first day of work.

  But as I rush naked around his living room, gathering up my clothes and looking desperately for my missing pair of underwear, I can’t help thinking that this really is the only time I’m ever going to get to have sex that fantastic in my life—especially if that fantastic sex is supposed to happen with Nick.

  Because he might be the kind of guy to have sex with me and ask questions later, but he’s not the kind to want anything to be uncomfortable afterward. Just look at his house, for God’s sake. He likes his life neat and orderly. Two things a relationship with me would definitely not be.

  Which I’m pretty sure means everything is going to be completely platonic and completely businesslike from now on—and that he’ll never make another move on me again.

  Which is a good thing—I know it is. What I can’t figure out is why, as I let myself out of his house to start what feels like the longest walk of my life, it doesn’t feel so good.

  And that’s before I run into three neighbors who are out walking their dogs. I tell myself they don’t actually know what I’m doing or why I’m out this early with a serious case of bedhead and what I’m sure is mascara running down my cheeks.

  But it feels like they know, feels like I have a giant scarlet S for walk of Shame plastered across my chest. A nice old lady with a poodle compliments me on my va-va-voom tank top and I just kind of smile and wave at her.

  And then I run—all the way up my driveway, through the gate, and around the back of the house. My only saving grace is that it’s barely six a.m. and there are no lights on in the house that I can see. Which—please God—means Mom and Sarah are still upstairs in bed.

  The last thing I want to do right now is see anyone else, let alone my mom as I wobble in on shaky legs after the best, most confusing sex of my life. She hasn’t been as judgy since our hours of drunken abandon two days ago, but I’m pretty sure the judginess will roar back, full force, if she catches me sneaking in at six in the morning. And I’m just not up for that.

  I slide the back door open and start to tiptoe inside, only to find myself face-to-face with Sarah and my mother, both of whom
are sitting on the couch drinking coffee. And watching me sneak in with raised brows.

  Fuck.

  I close my eyes and pray for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. When that doesn’t happen, I decide I might as well look on the bright side. At least I got one last fantastic orgasm before I died of total and complete humiliation. Okay, several orgasms, but that’s not the point right now.

  Fingers crossed that this won’t be as bad as I think it’s going to be.

  I smile sickly at them and give a little wave—kind of like how I treated the neighbors—before I make a beeline for the stairs.

  “From the look of you, I’m guessing the contractor knows how to swing his hammer,” Sarah says with a grin.

  I give her an are-you-kidding-me look. “I, umm—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Sarah.” My mother gives me a knowing look. “Mallory wasn’t with the contractor. The car’s been in the driveway since three yesterday afternoon.”

  “Well, then, who was she—” Sarah’s eyes go huge, and she claps her hands as she squeals, “Really? Nick?”

  “I don’t—I mean—”

  “Stop dithering, Mallory,” my mother says with a roll of her eyes. “Of course it was Nick, Sarah. The two of them have been dancing around each other since I got here.”

  “She’s right, isn’t she?” Sarah says, watching my face closely. “That’s awesome. Nick’s a great guy. And super hot.”

  I don’t know if he’s great, but he’s certainly not a bad guy—despite our awkward morning after. “He’s very nice,” I agree as I creep toward the stairs. The last thing I want—or have time for—is a bunch of questions about last night.

  “Do you want some coffee?” my mom asks.

  “I’ve got to take a shower and get dressed. I have to be at work by eight.” I remind myself to smile at her. “But thanks for the offer.”

  I’m almost at the stairs, thank God, but as I all but make a running leap for them, my mom says, “I’m proud of you.”

  “For…” I trail off, not willing to say out loud to my mother that I had sex with Nick, no matter how chill she seems to be right now.